The Assassin
by Imaginigma
Summary: On their way back to The Angle from Bree, Aragorn and Halbarad run into more trouble on the way than they can manage. Injured and far away from help, they struggle to survive the jaws of an evil assassin.
1. Bad Luck

**Title:** **The Assassin**

**Rating:** K +

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing that has to do with The Lord of the Rings. I make no money with this story.

**Summary:** On his way back to The Angle from Bree, Aragorn and Halbarad run into more trouble on the way than they can manage. Who will escape the wheels of fate and who will pay the ultimate price?

**A/N:** Written for the O.A.A. group, upon their adamant request. This is just for you ringers. ;)

°°°°°°°°°°

Chapter 1: Bad Luck

The sleet drumming against the grimy window did nothing to ease Aragorn's sour mood. With a frown upon his face and his arms crossed over his chest, he stood unmoving in front of the window, gazing out into the rain, brooding.

They had reached Bree three days ago, but the weather had not turned for the better, and thus they had been forced to take a room at the Prancing Pony to wait out the worst of the early winter storm. And judging by the almost black colour of the low hanging clouds, the weather would hold for at least another day.

Another day that Aragorn and his rangers would waste away at the Prancing Pony, staying in their rooms, staring at the ceiling, doing nothing. Or rather, Aragorn would pass the day in this manner. The three young rangers that he and Halbarad had taken with them to Bree seemed not at all bothered by the bad weather that delayed their mission.

Heaglon, Torion and his younger brother Forian seemed to enjoy their time at the inn. They would sit in the common room most of the day, listening to the stories of the inhabitants of Bree, taking in the atmosphere, the normal life and the variety of persons that lived and worked in the town. For them, it was more fun than work, despite Aragorn's warnings to be careful.

Oh, careful they were. Never would they actively participate in any of the brawls that broke out in the inn from time to time, nor would they join the singers or drunken dancers. They would silently sit in a corner and watch; and somewhere deep down, buried under his bad mood, Aragorn was proud of them for behaving like they should as rangers, as not as the youthful boys that they still were. None of them was older than 23 and this mission to Bree was their first real foray into the world outside of the Dunedain villages.

With an inaudible snort, Aragorn thought back on his first trip to Bree with the rangers. He had not been that well behaved, that much was sure. No, if he remembered correctly, he had managed to not only infuriate the barmaid by telling her that the ale was too warm, but he had also –he still did not know how- joined a tavern brawl and woken up in his bed after being knocked unconscious. Needless to say that the other rangers had not been pleased with him, after making sure that he was not seriously hurt, of course.

Aragorn almost smiled as he remembered the lecture he had received from the oldest ranger in the party, but in just that moment a gust of wind caused the window to rattle and a cold wind sneaked into the room through the wooden window frame.

His eyes darkening, Aragorn drew his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Despite the fire that burned in the hearth, the room was bitter cold, and standing near the window did not help matters either. But Aragorn could not tear his eyes away from the muddy street under the window or the sleet. And truly, there was nothing else he could do.

They had come to Bree to sell five of their horses on the market and to purchase goods and provisions that the villages would need for the coming winter. They did this every year and never had anything out of the ordinary happened. That was why Aragorn had decided to bring the three young rangers; it was an opportunity for them to see Bree and get to know the surrounding area.

But now, the horses stood in the smelly town stable, guarded by Halbarad, so that no one would steel them. The breed in the Dunedain villages had been good in the last years, and the horses should make a high price, but with this weather, there was no market, no customers, no sale. It was simply depressing.

Sighing, Aragorn gazed at the sky, but with the thick clouds he could not make out the time of day exactly. Still, it had to be early afternoon, and that meant that Heaglon would relieve Halbarad of his watch soon. That gave Aragorn another hour or so to stand near the window and brood.

For, without a doubt, as soon as Halbarad was back, he would try to cheer him up and persuade him to join him in the common room for a hot meal or an ale. And truth be told, Aragorn had no intention to do either of that. But he knew that he would follow Halbarad, that he would drink his ale, nod and try to smile at Halbarad's words, and pretend to not be frustrated by the weather.

And then Halbarad would frown at him, lower his spoon or ale, lean across the table and try to inquire what was wrong with him. And things would go downhill from there, Aragorn was sure.

Oh, this afternoon was no going to be pleasant, he thought sarcastically.

Aragorn could not even explain why his mood was so gloomy. There was nothing that awaited his immediate attention back in the village, and neither had he any other appointment that warranted his feeling of urgency to leave Bree. For, that was it what he felt; he wanted to sell the horses as soon as possible and leave Bree.

Sighing, Aragorn tucked a strand of dark hair behind his ear. Perhaps it was simply the fact that he had lived in the Wild for the last four years and had only returned to civilization two month ago. He was not used to so many people, and the feeling of being imprisoned in this room and in the inn was getting stronger with each day.

A smile tugged at his lips as he thought of the news that had awaited him upon his return to the village he used to stay in when he was not in the Wild. He still remembered his speechlessness when he had entered Halbarad's house, only to see a small, dark haired girl stare at him with wide eyes, a stuffed woollen rabbit clutched in her arms. The girl, Halbarad's first born child to be precise, had gaped at him for a moment longer, only to then walk over to him, hug his knee, for she could not reach higher, and smile at him sweetly. In that moment, Aragorn had been too surprised to do anything else than pat her head; Very much like one would do with a dog.

But with the days he spend with Halbarad and his family, he had come to like the girl. She was very sweet and curious, outspoken for a four-year old and well behaved. And what was more, the girl adored him and had taken to call him "uncle Aragorn".

The wind drove another gust of sleet against the window, and Aragorn sighed deeply. Halbarad's little daughter was a gift of the Valar, but the thought of her only reminded Aragorn of the life that he could not lead. He could not deny it; he wanted to have a family, a place to call home. But as it was, this was still only a dream and would more likely than not never come true.

This dark musings did nothing to lighten his mood, and Aragorn sighed once more, frustrated this time. At least, he thought wistfully, it is my turn to keep guard over the horses tonight. He would never admit it, but he felt more at ease in the open build stable with the horses, than in this dry and relative safe room.

For another half hour he stood motionless near the window, letting his thoughts wander while watching the muddy street below through the sleet. And when Halbarad returned to the Prancing Pony and the room that they shared, wet and cold, he agreed to come down to the common room to drink an ale with him. As he had predicted, the afternoon passed not very pleasantly.

°°°°°°°°°°

Aragorn sat down on the damp straw, stretching his long legs out before him and tightening his cloak around his shoulders. Compared to the chill outside, the stable was reasonable warm, due to the many horses that stood in the boxes.

The night was cold and dark; the rain had not lessened and the clouds hung deep in the sky, veiling the stars and the moon. There burned no torches in the stable and only one flickering oil lamp hung at the entrance door, making it even darker inside the stable, for the light deepened the shadows.

Alone with his thoughts, Aragorn's watch passed slowly but uneventfully. One of the young rangers would take over the watch at first light, but that was still many hours away. Midnight came and went, and Aragorn felt a comfortable tiredness settle in his body. The stable was warm, it was silent and the horses' snorts and swishing tails combined with the constant drumming of the rain onto the roof slowly lulled him into a slight slumber.

An hour passed, and suddenly Aragorn woke from his slumber. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and gripping the hilt of his sword that lay across his knees, he blinked and stared around in the near complete darkness. Frowning, he listened for any sound, but beside the breathing of the horses, he heard naught. What had woken him, then?

Being a ranger, Aragorn was a light sleeper, able to rouse himself at the merest indication that there was danger. It was an ability necessary to survive in the Wild, and Aragorn trusted his senses more than anything else. But, why had his senses then alarmed and woken him?

Concentrating, Aragorn noticed the signals his body send him; he felt the blood rush through his body, the adrenalin surge through every muscle and the rapid beating of his heart told him that something was amiss.

Without giving any indication that he was awake by moving, he glanced around the stable. The horses were sleeping peacefully in their boxes, there was no sound and no light as a sign that someone else had entered the stable.

No light…Narrowing his eyes, Aragorn let his eyes travel to the entrance door and the oil lamp that hung there. The lamp swung slightly in the wind, but the flame had been extinguished.

Had that awoken him? It was possible, but not very likely. For many more minutes Aragorn sat in silence, unmoving, listening. But nothing happened and no sound reached his ears other than those made by the animals and the rain. Still, his body continued to give him signals that aught was amiss, although he could not tell what.

Shaking his head slightly, Aragorn loosened his grip on his sword marginally, but did not remove his hand. Perhaps my senses are irritated by the number of humans that live here, he thought wryly, before he rested his head back against the wall once more. But for the remainder of the night he neither closed his eyes nor let his guard drop for only a moment.

°°°°°°°°°°

'_Curse the keen senses of a ranger! Curse them'_ The tall man cautiously crept along the wall of the stable, taking care to stay in the shadows. His attempt to sneak upon the ranger while the man was unawares had not worked out the way he had wanted it to.

His hair plastered to his face by the rain and his cloak being whipped around his body by the wind, he made his way down the muddy lane and to his room in an run down inn. For weeks he was now staying in Bree, and finally his opportunity to act had come. Again, he silently cursed the ranger's instincts. Damn, not even the horses had sensed his presence!

A few long minutes later, the man opened the backdoor to the inn he stayed in and then hushed up the wooden steps to his small chamber. Placing the only chair under the handle and bolting the door, the man shrugged out of his cloak and quickly wrapped himself in some old blankets to warm his body.

Frowning, he stepped up to the small window. If not today, then sometime else. He had no doubt that he would accomplish the task that had been assigned to him. Sooner or later, the ranger named Strider would meet his untimely end by his sword. Or bow. It did not matter truly how the man died…

A small grin tugged at the man's lips. To kill the ranger in Bree would have many advantages: many people, routes of escape, dark alleys and corners, anonymity…But he knew he would have no difficulty killing the ranger in the Wild, either. He had done this so many times before, why should this time be any different?

It would not be different. The ranger would die, he would get his money and his next assignment. Life was too fragile to be true.

°°°°°°°°°°

Finally, the weather changed and with the weak rays of the winter sun, the market life in Bree resumed its normal pace. Merchants bustled around, chickens ran hither and yonder, sheep and cattle were sold alongside flour, corn and dried meat. The smith, the tanner and the baker praised their goods and the citizens of Bree and travelling folk haggled over quality and price.

To Aragorn's relief, they sold all the horses for a good price to one and the same merchant, who planned to travel to Tharbad in the near future and needed the horses for his companions. The animals were in good hands and would be cared for, something that was important to Aragorn, even though he knew he would never see the horses again in his life.

The rangers bought the goods and merchandise they needed; blankets, pottery, tools, weapons, metal and glass works, some food and clothing, and other things that they were not able to produce at the villages. The evening found them seated in the common room of the Prancing Pony, sipping their ale after a warm evening meal. They would head home the following morning, and although Aragorn wanted the young rangers to turn in early this night, he nevertheless wanted to give them a last opportunity to enjoy the normal life in Bree.

After some hours, long after darkness had fallen, the Pony was still full packed with people. They sung and danced, gambled and shouted. The room was warm and the air stale; with most of the men smoking and even some women puffing on pipes, the room was filled with a grey haze that burned in the eyes and made even the ale taste smoky.

Sipping at his ale, Aragorn let his eyes travel across the room, taking in the assembled crowd. He knew some of the faces by name, others from sight, and there were some he had never seen before.

The rangers were aware that they attracted the one or other curious glance, but they were used it and for their part ignored the stares. Around midnight, Aragorn sent a pointy look across the table towards the two young rangers, the third having guard duty over their horses and the good they had brought, and with small bows and muttered goodnights, the young man stood up and made their way through the room towards the stairs that would lead them to the room they shared.

Once they were out of earshot, Halbarad snorted in amusement. Frowning, Aragorn took another sip from his ale before he questioned, "Pray tell me, what is so amusing?"

With merrily twinkling eyes, Halbarad answered, "You should have seen you face, my friend. I swear, you looked exactly like …"

But Aragorn never learned how he had looked, because in that moment both his and Halbarad's instincts told them that something was amiss. Turning around in his seat, Aragorn had barely enough time to shift his body to the right, before an obviously drunken man crashed into their table, knocking over their tankards and spilling ale everywhere.

Halbarad cursed as the ale dripped onto his tunic and trousers, but his eyes never left the man and the room behind him. Only a moment later, the man pushed away from the table, staggering and swaying as he did so, but as soon as he stood he lunged at another man, who stood not far away.

And then…bedlam ensued. The two drunken man fought as if their life depended on it, knocking over tables, running into people and smashing pottery and tankards. People screamed, others cheered them on, but all too soon a true tavern brawl broke out.

The serving maidens hid behind the bar, the few Hobbits crawled under tables and some men and women fled the inn altogether, deciding that it was time to go home.

Aragorn glanced briefly at Halbarad, and as if on a silent command, both got to their feet and tried to stop the fights. A few stern words, some intercepted blows or a restrained fist was enough to stop most of the fighters, Halbarad knew. These people were good and peaceful people, but an ale or two too much and things could become nasty.

Halbarad had just stopped a fight between to old and already grey haired men, when a surprised yell reached his ears. A yell of pain.

Snapping his head around so quickly that he heard his neck crack, he scanned the room for the one who had uttered the yell. Aragorn…Some men blocked his vision, but without further ado Halbarad fought his way through the throng of men and when he finally spotted Aragorn, a small gasp escaped him.

Standing next to a table, on hand braced against it to keep his balance, Aragorn pressed his other hand against his left side, blood covering his fingers and staining the tunic around…the hilt of what looked like a dagger.

Eyes widening, Halbarad ruthlessly pushed two men out of his way and in a few long strides was at Aragorn's side, clasping his shoulder and gripping the hilt of his sword with the other. Pain flickered through Aragorn eyes and he looked pale, but before Halbarad could say anything, he straightened up from his unbalanced position and his face settled into the controlled mask Halbarad knew only to well.

"He is already gone, Halbarad, as is his opponent." Aragorn said softly, only for Halbarad to hear.

This news did nothing to slow Halbarad's frantic beating heart, and he did not remove his hand from the hilt of his sword. He was just to question Aragorn what had happened, when he suddenly noticed the stillness of the room. Looking around, he saw that the fighting had stopped, and all eyes rested on him and Aragorn; no one spoke aloud and only hushed whispers filled the corners of the room.

Taking a deep breath, Halbarad wondered whether these people were shocked to see a ranger wounded, or whether they already bet who of them would kill the one who had attacked Aragorn. Probably the latter, he thought darkly.

The small tremor that raced through Aragorn's body, and that Halbarad felt even through the tunic Aragorn wore, made him refocus on the situation at hand. He had to get Aragorn to their room and remove the dagger, ere he lost too much blood.

Tightening his hold on Aragorn's shoulder, he glanced briefly at his friend, and when Aragorn nodded, the two of them made their way through the silent crow towards the stairs. Just when they reached the bottom step, Barliman Butterbur spoke up from where he stood behind the bar,

"Oh, ah, Master Rangers, Sirs…"

Without turning, Halbarad said in a tone that brokered no argument, "See that someone brings us hot water and some more towels, an extra blanket and some more candles."

"Yes, of course."

And then, they were up the stair and out of sight of the crowd. As soon as their tall frames rounded the corner at the head of the stairs, the buzz of many voices erupted behind them. Unheeding of the voices coming from the common room, Halbarad steered Aragorn towards the room they shared, a firm grip on his upper arm, and the other still at the hilt of his sword.

Suddenly, the door next to theirs was opened, and the youngest of the rangers, Forian, peeked his head out. Upon seeing Halbarad and Aragorn, he said a bit sleepy, "We heard some noises from downstairs, is everything…"

Halbarad, meanwhile having reached the door to their own room, gave him a stern look and said gruffly, "Get up and down, Master Butterbur will bring up some water, candles and cloths."

Upon Forain's confused look, Halbarad barked, "Now, boy!"

Startled, Forian disappeared into his room only to reappears a few second later, fully clothed and armed to do Halbarad's bidding. His brother, Torion, came out as well upon hearing the command, and when he saw Halbarad open the door and the pale face of Aragorn, he quickly took his weapons, closed the door to his own room and followed the two older men into their room.

While Halbarad led Aragorn to his bed, Torion lit the candles, closed the curtains and stoked the fire. He had seen the blood on his Chieftain's clothing, and although he had no idea what had happened, he knew that he would be told when it was necessary.

So it was, "Torion." Halbarad said.

"Aye?"

"There was a fight downstairs and I want you to guard the door to this room and the hallway. Make sure that no one tries to get in here."

"Aye," and the young man vanished into the darkness of the hallway, closing the door softly behind him.

That taken care of, Halbarad turned back to Aragorn, who was already trying to ease out of his tunic and shirt.

"Here, let me help you." Together, the two men removed the tunic, shirt and under tunic to have a good view at the injury.

The dagger was deeply embedded into the flesh, just under the ribs, and blood was oozing from the wound, having already soaked through the waistband of Aragorn's trousers.

Halbarad probed the injury with skilled fingers, and Aragorn had to suppress a moan of pain when his friend touched the hilt of the dagger to determine whether the weapon had hit a rib after all.

"That does not look good, Aragorn. I do not know how long the blade of this dagger is; it could have hit a rib or an organ."

"It has not," Aragorn said calmly, but Halbarad knew his friend well enough to tell that he was in a lot of pain.

"What makes you think so?"

"I would have lost more blood already if it had hit an organ. And I did not feel it scrape over bone."

Halbarad raised an eyebrow at that, "You are in a tavern brawl, someone runs you through with a dagger, and you can tell whether it scraped over bone?"

"Aye, you can't?" Aragorn asked surprised, but both knew it was a jest. They had been in enough similar situations to know how to handle each other when injured.

Shrugging and kneeling before the seated Aragorn to see the wound better, Halbarad was just to ask how this had happened in the first place, when he heard soft footsteps in the hallway. His hand flew to the hilt of his sword, and when the door opened he got to his feet.

But it was only Forian who brought the requested water, candles and cloths.

"Lit the candles and place them on the tables. And bring one to me," Halbarad instructed, already inspecting the wound once more. Forian did as he was told, but he looked even paler than Aragorn.

Seeing the young ranger's obvious uneasiness, Aragorn smiled at the man as good he could with Halbarad poking his injury. When the candles burned and the water and cloth had been placed next to Halbarad, Aragorn said as calmly as he could, "Forian, go to the stables and help Heaglon guarding the horses and the cart."

"Aye, Aragorn." And the boy was gone faster than an elf could nock an arrow.

Gazing after him, Halbarad shook his head, "We should not have taken him with us. He is too young."

"He has seen his share of injuries, Halbarad. I think he was simply surprised to see '_me'_ injured."

"Maybe." But Aragorn could tell that his friend would not take Forian with him when he next went on patrol, as he had planned to do.

Halbarad cleaned his hands and then he kneeled once more, looking up at his friend. "Shall I remove it now, or wait till the bleeding slows?"

Taking a deep breath and embracing his fate, Aragorn grasped the edge of the bed, "Remove it."

Nodding, Halbarad grabbed the hilt of the dagger, ignoring his friend's tense body, and with a strong pull he removed the offending weapon in one move.

Aragorn groaned in pain, but other than that he made no sound. Quickly, Halbarad placed a piece of cloth against the wound, worried at the amount of blood that poured forth, now that the dagger was removed.

Another pad of cloth followed, and another, and another. Frowning, Halbarad locked eyes with Aragorn. "The bleeding does not stop, Aragorn."

Swallowing, Aragorn placed his hand over Halbarad's and peeled away the mountain of cloths to look at the wound. As soon as the pads were removed, new blood pooled in the wound and ran down Aragorn's side.

"It is deep, Halbarad. Give it some more time."

And that they did, but when they ran out of cloths and the injury had still not stopped bleeding, Halbarad began to truly worry. "Aragorn?"

"Mhh?" Aragorn had his eyes closed and was now leaning against the headboard of the bed, which was not a very encouraging sight for Halbarad.

"Aragorn? Are you alert?"

"Yes, I am." But Aragorn's voice was soft, so as if Halbarad had indeed just woken him.

"Aragorn, it does not stop to bleed. We need to do something else ere you lose more blood."

Blinking, Aragorn looked at the many bloody cloths that pressed against the wound. His brow furrowed in thought, before he said, "Hal, give me my pack, please. And ask Torion to bring us more cloths."

Reaching out and placing Aragorn's own hand over the injury so that he could hold up the pressure on the wound, Halbarad did as Aragorn had asked.

"What do you want me to look for?" He said as he lifted Aragorn's worn pack onto the bed and began to open it.

"There should be a leather pouch in it, with green embroidery."

After a few moments of searching in the flickering candlelight, Halbarad said, "Got it."

"Good, open it. There should be a smaller satchel in it…..Aye, that one. Pour the powder in a cup and add a few drops of water. Not more, only two or three drops."

Halbarad sniffed at the brown powder, but he did as Aragorn had asked and then returned to the bed with the mixture. Aragorn's hand that was pressing against the wound was already covered in bright red blood, and Halbarad felt another pang of fear surge through him. The wound looked harmless on the surface, but it was very deep; he only hoped that his friend had not lost too much blood already to harm him permanently.

Shaking himself mentally, Halbarad pressed the cub into Aragorn's waiting hand, who then looked at the mixture for a moment before he nodded.

"Do you have a spoon or a small knife, Halbarad? Mine are already with the horses and the cart. This mixture must no be touched with the fingers."

"No, but there is the spoon from the meal we had for lunch." And without further ado Halbarad took the wooden spoon, cleaned it as best he could, and handed it to Aragorn.

Their eyes met, and Aragorn smiled thinly, "This is going to hurt, Hal."

That was all prompt Halbarad needed, and in the next moment he sat behind Aragorn, pressing his friend against his own chest to make sure that he did not move again, or indeed was able to move more than his arms.

"Ready?"

"When you are ready, Aragorn."

"A ranger is always ready," he commented wryly, and then he quickly removed the pads from the wound. Without hesitation he dipped the spoon into the mixture and then spread it on the wound.

The moment the brown paste connected with the injury, his whole body stiffened in agony and he groaned in pain, but Halbarad held him firmly, so that he could not twist away. Clenching his teeth, he put the rest of the paste onto the injury, spreading it a bit so that it would cover the whole wound, before the took a cloth and pressed strongly onto the injury, throwing the spoon into the fire.

Aragorn began to tremble, sweat stood on his brow and Halbarad could feel his friend's muscles tense as if they would burst any moment. But other than the groan that Aragorn had uttered when he had first spread the paste on the wound, he made no more sound.

A few moments later, Aragorn removed the cloth, which was now red with blood, and inspected the wound. Nodding with satisfaction, he put a new, clean cloth on it.

"The blood flow slowed."

"That is good. Let me take care of that." And Halbarad wriggled out from behind Aragorn, mindful not to jostle him too much, and then inspected the wound himself.

He lifted an eyebrow in astonishment, "What was that stuff? It has almost stopped bleeding altogether."

"A mixture of Lord Elrond's. Fireberries mixed with some herbs and salt."

"Salt!" Halbarad gazed at Aragorn in disbelief. "But, that must hurt horribly."

Aragorn smiled weakly, "It does."

"Oh, yes." And then Halbarad began to clean the wound and bandage it, following Aragorn's instructions.

Soon, the wound was bandaged and had stopped bleeding. Pressing a cup of ale into Aragorn's hand that Aragorn had not even noticed Butterbur bring them, Halbarad spread a blanket across his friend and then sat down on the chair next to the bed.

"Drink up, it will help you. I wish we had some wine, but Butterbur says he ran out of it."

"This will do. Hal, thank you."

"Ah, your welcome." He waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal, but his eyes never left Aragorn's face.

"Drink up, now."

Aragorn took a few sips of the ale, but truth be told, today it tasted like dishwater. Butterbur made the finest ale in all of Breeland, but this night, Aragorn wished for something with more strength in it, like _miruvor_.

"So, now tell me, Aragorn. How did this happen?"

Shrugging, Aragorn began to explain how he had tried to separate two of the men. They had looked harmless enough, farmers. But then suddenly one of them had drawn his dagger, forcing Aragorn to step in between them. He had taken the dagger away, but the next moment the other man had drawn his dagger as well, attacking.

The rest, Halbarad knew already.

Snorting and moving a hand through his hair, Halbarad shook his head, "Sometimes, Aragorn, I ask myself why we do all this."

"It is our duty."

"Yes, but can't fate smile on us? Only once? Is that too much asked for?"

"I am still alive, Halbarad." Aragorn smiled, but then he tried to hide a yawn.

Seeing it, Halbarad said, "Time to get some sleep, Aragorn. The sun will be up in a few hours and you should get all the rest you can."

"Aye, you are right."

"I know, that's why I am telling you to rest." Halbarad began to blow out most of the candles and Aragorn chuckled, while he let his body sink down into the straw filled mattress.

"Hal?"

"Mhh?"

"Before you fall asleep yourself, do me the favour and tell Torion that he can return to his own room. He does not need to hold guard all night because of some drunken man."

"Oh holy….of course." Halbarad cursed, and then the left the room to inform the younger ranger that his guard was no longer needed. Indeed, the young man would have stood guard all night and he needed his rest for the days to come.

Aragorn let his head fall back against the cushion and closed his eyes tiredly. The next few days would be exhausting as well, as they wanted to reach the village as soon as possible, before the first winder snows set in. A few moments later, Halbarad re-entered the room and closed and bolted the door silently, tiptoeing to his own bed. But he need not have worried, for Aragorn was already deeply asleep, his body trying to get the healing sleep it needed.

To be continued…

**So, what do you think? Do you like it?**


	2. On The Road Again

**A/N:** This chapter is a bit shorter than the last, but it was a good point for a break. Enjoy.

_(Translations: Mae (S) artuile (Q), mellon nin- Good morning, my friend)_

°°°°°°°°°°

**Chapter 2: On The Road Again**

It was the doleful hooting of doves that woke Aragorn from his deep sleep, and when he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see the room bathed in shadowy light that filtered in through the curtains before the window. In the bright light that sneaked in through the fabric, he could see the dust dance in the air, almost like grey smoke.

Frowning, he sat up slowly, on hand braced against his wound. A dull ache spread from the injury, but it was bearable, and Aragorn sat up the whole way, glancing around. Halbarad was not in the room; his bed was made, his sword and weapons gone, but his pack was still laying on the small table.

Confused as to the lateness of the day and the absence of his friend, Aragorn swung his legs over the edge of the bed and was just to get to his feet, when he heard soft footsteps coming towards his room and then the door opened with a creaking sound.

"Aragorn! You should not be awake yet." Halbarad entered the room and let his eyes quickly scan his friend's condition.

"Well, I should have been awake some hours ago. Why did you not wake me?"

Smiling slightly, Halbarad moved towards the window and threw back the curtains. Bright sunlight streamed into the room, seemingly to crawl into every nook and cranny. Aragorn averted his face and blinked his eyes against the sudden onslaught of light, but he had not forgotten his question.

"Halbarad?"

Sighing, Halbarad turned around, but Aragorn noticed that his friend stayed well out of his reach. Leaning against the window pane, Halbarad crossed his arms before his chest and shrugged, "You needed your sleep. You lost quite an amount of blood and I thought it best to let you rest."

Aragorn lifted an eyebrow, "But we had planned to leave today. _Early_ today. You should have woken me."

Waving his hand dismissively, Halbarad retorted, "Ah, do you know how grumpy you are when you are tired? Nah, I was loath to risk that."

Aragorn snorted softly, "That does not give you the right to let me sleep till…" Aragorn gazed out the window, "…almost midday! Halbarad!" His voice had taken on a reprimanding tone. They had planned to leave Bree early today to make good on the days they had lost through the winter storm. Some of the goods they had bought were perishable, and they could not tarry.

Turning serious, Halbarad locked his eyes with Aragorn, "Trust me, Aragorn. You needed your rest. Seldom before have I seen you sleep so soundly, and not even the appearance of Butterbur could wake you. You needed your rest, and if you ask me you still need rest."

"But you know as well as I do that we need to return to the village with the goods."

"Aye." Halbarad pushed away from the window pane and slowly made his way over to his pack, turning his back on Aragorn. "That is why I send the three youngsters along with the cart and the goods."

A tense silence filled the room, and when Aragorn broke it, his voice was soft and stern, "You did what?"

Cringing, but glad that Aragorn could not see his face, Halbarad repeated, "I send the three back home. With the horses, the cart and the goods."

Aragorn tilted his head to the side and tried to find out whether his friend was joking or not. Had he truly send the three young rangers home? All alone and with all their winter provisions? Without their protection?

"Halbarad, if you are joking with me, I do not appreciate it."

Turning around and finally facing his friend, Halbarad took a deep breath. He had thought that Aragorn would not like this, but he stood to his decision. "It was a good idea to send them alone. They are old enough to be safe, they can protect themselves. And I think it is a good chance for them to be in the wild on their own."

Shaking his head, Aragorn released his breath slowly, "When did they leave?"

"Before dawn."

Aragorn grimaced in dismay. He knew that they would not be able to catch up with the youngsters before nightfall, and to travel in the Wild during the night, especially in winter, was perilous to horse and rider.

Halbarad, seeing his friend's dismay, said gently, "They will be fine, Aragorn. Trust me. Nothing will happen to them. We will leave early tomorrow and if we travel fast and with little rest, we should catch up to them before they even reach Weathertop. The cart will slow them enough to do so. You know that."

Another long breath left Aragorn's lips, and when he looked up at Halbarad, his eyes were serious. "Aye, I know that. But I also know that the road is not safe this time of year. Winter has reached these lands and the vagabonds and cutthroats become more bold now that the game and food has become scarce."

"They will be safe. They are grown and they are rangers. They will hold their own. After all, they were trained by the best."

Aragorn could not help the small smile that tugged at his lips, "Are you trying to flatter me, ranger?"

"Perhaps." Halbarad grinned openly. He knew his friend well enough to tell that Aragorn had accepted his decision to send the youngsters ahead. Time to move on to other issues.

"How is your side?"

Aragorn took another moment to glare at Halbarad, but his surrender could easily be read in his eyes.

"It is tender, but I feel no fever. I will live."

"Oh, good. Well, now that that is settled, I have only come back to get some coins."

And with that said, Halbarad turned back to his pack and began to rummage through it. Lifting a small leather satchel out of it, he pocketed it and turned towards the door.

"Hal?"

"Rest, Aragorn. I will lock the door from the outside. A second key lies on the table, if you need to get out. But you should use the time and rest."

"And what are you going to do with your time, my friend?"

A mischievous grin spread over Halbarad's face; a grin that Aragorn only knew too well.

"I? Now that we have a bit of free time on our hands, I am planning to do some shopping of my own. Anything you need, Aragorn?"

"Nay. Don't get lost like the last time, Hal."

Throwing Aragorn a glare but grinning at the same time, Halbarad left the room and a moment later the key clicked in the lock, telling Aragorn that he was safe. Halbarad's footsteps drew away from the room and a few moments later, silence settled over the room, with only the pigeons hooting outside.

Sinking back down onto the straw filled mattress and stretching out his long legs, Aragorn gazed out of the window. The storm of the last days had left the air clean and fresh, and the sky was of a brilliant blue; a blue that could only be seen in winter, and Aragorn knew that it had to be cold outside. With no clouds during the night, the coming morning would be frosty.

Snuggling deeper into the blankets, Aragorn closed his eyes tiredly. Halbarad was right, there was nothing he could not now but rest. And tomorrow, they would leave Bree and hurry after the youngsters. He knew that they were grown and in principle capable of dealing with trouble, but still, Aragorn felt responsible for them and he wanted to make sure that they would return from their first real trip unscathed.

For a few more minutes he relished in the warmth of the bed and listened to the hooting of the doves, before he drifted off to sleep.

°°°°°°°°°°

"Aragorn? The horses are tacked and I already paid good Butterbur. We can move out as soon as you are ready."

Glancing over his shoulder at Halbarad, Aragorn closed the catch on his cloak before he answered, "In a moment."

Nodding, Halbarad left the room again and made his way to the stables and their waiting horses. Sighing, Aragorn sat down on the bed, pulling his boots close to him. The wound he had received hurt him still, more then he had let on, and inwardly he was not looking forward to sitting on a horse all day. He had wrapped the wound tightly in heavy bandages to support it during the journey, and he hoped that it would not reopen. Now in hindsight, Halbarad's decision to let him rest had been a wise one. Although, Aragorn would never tell his friend so.

Grinning slightly, he pulled on his boots, but grimaced in pain when he had to bend over to lace them. Aragorn took a few deep breath to battle the pain, before he got to his feet, picked up his weapons and pack and left the room.

Butterbur bid him farewell as soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs, and Aragorn simply nodded at the inn owner and made his way to the stable where they had left their horses. Perhaps, someday Butterbur would be more happy to see them _enter_ the inn than _leave_ it. Perhaps. He was never unfriendly, and Aragorn knew that the presence of the rangers caused many people to come to the inn only to see them, but still. Generally, rangers meant trouble, and Butterbur was no exception when it came to the protection of his reputation. A ranger murdered at his inn, how horrible!

With a wry grin Aragorn reached his horse, patted its neck and then scratched its long forehead.

"Mae artuile, mellon nin."

The horse snorted softly and nuzzled his hand. For a moment the animal swished its tail agitatedly and stomped its hooves, and Aragorn smiled. "Impatient, huh? We'll be on the road soon."

And with that, he began to fasten his pack and bow to the saddle. His sword would stay at his side, as was his wont. Halbarad, who had already finished his preparations, sidled up to him and then gazed out at the street that wound through Bree.

"The ground is frozen, but we should make good progress today. If the weather holds, we could cover ten leagues today." He glanced questioningly at Aragorn over his shoulder.

"Aye, let us go then." Aragorn took his horse's reins and gently steered his mount out of the stable and into the street. Halbarad followed him and soon they were caught in the morning buzz of the town.

Farmers herded their sheep through to the market to sell them, oxen pulled the traders' carts along, some geese hurried through the narrow streets and a few dogs chased after them, barking loudly. When the two rangers passed by the public bakery building, where most of the towns bread was baked to prevent fires that could destroy Bree, a young maiden smiled at them and winked, much to Halbarad's amusement.

"You are married, my friend." Aragorn reminded him good naturedly.

"I know, does not mean I cannot look."

"Hal, really. Sometimes I ask myself how old you are." Aragorn said sternly, but his eyes glimmered merrily.

Grinning right back, Halbarad retorted smugly, "Look who is speaking. Why don't you look sometimes, my friend? It is time you find someone."

Aragorn averted his eyes and was glad that a passing farmer with grunting pigs prevented him from answering. That was truly a question he would rather not answer now, and not while they were in Bree.

When the pigs had passed them by, Halbarad was busily trying to convince a young lad who sold wrinkled apples that he had no need, and Aragorn sighed inwardly in relief. He had never told Halbarad of Arwen, there had simply been no opportunity, and he was glad that his friend could not press the matter now.

On their way to the gates they passed more and more citizens as the town awoke, and when they finally exited Bree and left the narrow streets behind them, both of them sighed openly in relief. Rangers were simply not made for town life. The villages of the rangers were never that loud and busy, not even in summer, when most of the life took place outside.

Mounting their horses, Aragorn and Halbarad rode down the Old East Road and soon Bree vanished behind them. Only the grey smoke that drifted slowly into the blue sky gave away the location of the settlement.

During the morning, they met many farmers with their cattle on the road; the men brought their animals to town after letting the animals graze on the open plains during the summer and fall. A few traders passed them by wordlessly, eyeing them suspiciously, so as if they would steal the traders' goods.

The farther East they rode, the fewer the other travellers became, and when the sun sank down behind the horizon early in the afternoon, Aragorn and Halbarad were the only riders left on the road as far as their keen eyes could see.

They set up camp near the road but far away in the surrounding fields and trees that their fire would not be spotted. As soon as the sun had disappeared completely, an almost black darkness bathed the lands in shadows, and the stars were hidden by thin clouds that had spread over the sky during the day.

The fire crackled merrily and the warmth it provided eased the pain in Aragorn's side. Riding and sitting in the saddle for the whole day with little rest had done his injury no good. From what he could tell it had not started bleeding again, but it was throbbing, and from now and then a sharp pain would lance through his side. The injury was not life threatening in any way, but it hampered him and that fact annoyed Aragorn.

Shifting his weight and arching his back a little to take some of the strain off of his side, Aragorn sighed inwardly. This injury was truly a nuisance.

"Are you hungry?"

Startled out of his thoughts by Halbarad's question, Aragorn frowned a moment before he answered, "Aye. What do we have? Most of our provisions are with the cart and the youngsters."

"Ah, but here you err, Strider." Halbarad gave him a smug smile. He reached behind him, pulled his pack close, and then took out a cloth wrapped package.

Aragorn lifted an eyebrow and watched how his friend slowly peeled away the cloth, as if the food he held was a treasure worth of a kingdom. Smiling with amusement at Halbarad' antics, Aragorn asked, "Don't tell me you convinced Butterbur to sell you some of his tarts."

"No, better my friend. Much better." And with that Halbarad lifted the last layer of cloth from the package, lifted the food to his nose and breathed in deeply.

"Ah, fresh _basgorn_. And from the smell of it, one of better quality."

"Basgorn? Where did you get _that_?" Aragorn eyed the loaf of bread in Halbarad's hand with wide eyes. Basgorn was an old Hobbit meal, only rarely made outside of The Shire. Principally it was a loaf of bread which was filled with herbs, mushrooms, meat and small pieces of potatoes. It was eaten at festivals, but only few could make it in these days, as the recipe was quite old and a secret that was not shared with outsiders. Many had tried to bake the basgorn, but none had succeeded in making a real tasty one.

Halbarad grinned and took out his knife to prepare their meal. "That is a very good question, Strider. While you slept the whole day, I met that fine lass in, a Hobbit from the East Farthing. She works for the local tailor."

Placing a slice of bread on Aragorn's small wooden plate and handing it to him, Halbarad continued, "I helped her out of a tricky situation and as a reward she gave me the basgorn. Well, I could not reject that offer, now could I?"

Halbarad took a huge bite from the bread and closed his eyes while chewing. "'Tis as good as it smells."

Shaking his head, Aragorn took a bite from his bread and had to agree. This basgorn was truly good and obviously Hobbit made. The herbs in it blended in with the mushrooms and the potatoes, and the meat that had been used was tender and delicious.

Swallowing and taking a sip of his tea, Aragorn inquired, "You helped her, in what way?"

"Mh?" Halbarad wiped his fingers on his trousers and then proceeded to cut another slice of bread.

"You said you helped the lass out of a tricky situation. What happened?"

"Oh." Grinning, Halbarad rolled his eyes. "The tailor had ordered her to finish a cloak for a customer, but she could not reach it, for the tailor had placed it high on a shelf. Really, a stupid thing. But she was happy for my help, because she had only recently joined the tailor and was afraid to lose her work."

Shaking his head and taking another bite of the bread while Halbarad started on his second slice, Aragorn pondered what his friend had told him.

"Why have you been at the tailor's?" Aragorn asked curiously.

A slight red blush crept up Halbarad's cheeks and Aragorn snickered.

"Ah, I see." Aragorn said knowingly and laughed lightly. As it seemed, Halbarad's wife would receive a new dress or scarf.

Swallowing, Halbarad turned to his friend, "But I also bought something for Shannon."

Putting down his plate, Aragorn took a sip from his cup. "What did you buy for your daughter?"

Smiling a bit sheepishly, Halbarad told him, "Honey. A full glass of clover-honey. She loves honey and as there are no clover fields near the village, I thought it would be a nice present for her."

"I am sure she will be delighted, Halbarad." Aragorn said sincerely, but then he added in an afterthought, "Just don't let her eat it all at once." And he wriggled his nose as if remembering an incident long past.

Now it was Halbarad's turn to lift an eyebrow, "Is there something I should know?"

"Hu? Oh, no, nothing."

"Strider…" Halbarad said, his tone probing.

Sighing in mock surrender, Aragorn told him how he had eaten almost the whole stock of honey in the kitchens of Imladris when he had been a small child, and how his mother had lectured him afterwards. But her lecture had been cut short by his aching stomach, and Aragorn could still remember the horrible night he had had, when the honey had made him sick.

Halbarad laughed loudly, clapping his thighs, and before long Aragorn joined him in his merriment. It was good to remember times long past. They were sometimes definitely better than the future.

Aragorn took the first watch, and after his friend had fallen asleep, snoring softly, he turned his eyes heavenwards. The thin clouds had not moved on, and the stars could not be seen. But Aragorn needed not to see the stars to know where to find Gil-Estel. His eyes locked on the place where the star was twinkling in the sky, veiled by the clouds, and Aragorn's thoughts wandered.

He had enjoyed his talk with Halbarad, he always did, but his friend's remark from the morning had not left him yet. Indeed, he had aged. He was not the young, careless man anymore, who had his whole life still before him. Who was ready to find his limits and push them, who jumped into every fray and who embraced danger with open arms.

No, he had seen his share of fighting, danger and death, and although he still got up every morning to battle against the darkness, he slowly but surely wished for all the fighting to end. For years he had now toiled against the forces of evil, and with every year that passed, the minions of darkness grew bolder, the battles harder and the losses among the Dunedain greater.

And Halbarad…he had found a wife, had an adorable child. His life was stable and controlled, despite the dangers he faced on patrols and missions. When he returned from a patrol, he knew that a warm hearth and a loving family would await him with loving arms. A home to return to.

But for him? Aragorn knew that he would never truly have a home to return to as long as the darkness lasted. Imladris was always open to him, but it was not home any longer. Not after the tension that lay between him and Lord Elrond. And the Dunedain villages…they were some kind of home, but not the home he wished for. And, he knew it was only temporary.

How long would he stay this time? A few months? A year? Two? He did not know, but he had the distinct feeling that his years of travelling were not yet over, and that sooner or later he would set out again, leaving the Dunedain behind until he would be able to return once more.

Aragorn gazed into the surrounding darkness, the fire beside him slowly burning low. Would he ever be able to come home and be embraced by his wife, buy presents for his children? The thought nearly physically hurt him.

Shaking his head, Aragorn got to his feet soundlessly. To dwell on these thoughts would not help him, and he knew that there was nothing he could do to change his fate. But, he _could_ make sure that the area was still safe and that nothing would disturb them tonight, and so he shouldered his bow and moved to the edge of the fire light to patrol the area around the camp.

°°°°°°°°°°

That the rangers had split up made his task even simpler, and the assassin had actually rubbed his hands in happiness. To attack a ranger was always a dangerous thing, but to attack a whole group of rangers outside of a town, that was even more dangerous. If not quite suicidal.

In the Wilds, rangers were in their element; he had heard stories of rangers living in forests for moths without ever meeting other humans or beings, of rangers who could track an eagle with their eyes to its nest high up the mountains, of rangers who were as skilled in tracking and hunting as the elves, and of rangers who were able to kill orcs with their bare hands.

Given, he did not believe all of the rumours, but he knew enough about the rangers to know that they were special. And the rangers that he had the pleasure to kill so far had been hard to kill.

The assassin had followed the two older rangers out of the town, but he knew that he could not follow them on the road; the East Road snaked through open terrain with few bends and little cover alongside the road. He would be spotted immediately, should one of the rangers look over his shoulder.

So, the assassin had taken to the surrounding fields, following the riders while hiding in the bushes and long grass. As long as the rangers stayed on the road, he would have no problem following them, and as soon as they headed North or South, it would be even easier to blend in with nature.

When darkness settled around him, the tall assassin bound his horse to a tree and then settled down behind some boulders. He knew the rangers would rest as well, especially with the one called Strider being wounded.

Oh yes, he had heard of the incident, and for a moment he had felt almost disappointed. He had waited in Bree for weeks for the ranger to make an appearance. The man could not die in a tavern brawl, just like that! But after hearing that the ranger had survived and was relatively well, the assassin had felt reassured that his mark had not died yet.

Would he be paid if the ranger died not by his hand? Well, he could always tell his client that it was his doing, but he doubted his client would believe him. He had learned long ago that his client seemed to know everything that happened West of the Misty Mountains. It was almost magical how well informed his client sometimes was.

Tightening his cloak around his shoulders and stretching his legs out before him, the assassin drifted off into a light slumber, letting the nightly sounds lull him to sleep. Tomorrow, he would follow the rangers and perhaps he could even make his first move. Perhaps…

°°°°°°°°°°

The next two days passed uneventfully for Aragorn and Halbarad, and to their dismay and surprise, they had not yet caught up with the youngsters. The tracks of the cart were easy enough to follow, but the three young rangers seemed to press their steeds and to rest little. Aragorn and Halbarad passed by Weatherhill and then left the road and turned to the South. They had decided to enter The Angle not from the North but West, for that would shorten their trip.

It was in the afternoon of the fourth day, when Halbarad suddenly spoke up, disturbing Aragorn's musings, "I bet the three make haste to the village to tell them what happened to you. It makes a good horror story."

Grimacing at the thought, Aragorn unconsciously touched his side. The wound had not become infected and the stitches held, but that did not mean that it did not hurt him to sit on a horse all day. But, as a ranger Aragorn had learned to live with every kind of pain, and this was nothing he could not handle.

"They will exaggerate to the point of it being a fairy tale." He answered in dismay.

A barking laugh was Halbarad's answer. "Indeed, they will. They will let it sound as if you barely escaped with your life. The great Chieftain of the Dunedain of the North, brought to his knees by Bob the drunken farmer!"

"Hal…" Aragorn's voice had taken on a long suffering tone. But he knew his friend well enough to know that Halbarad was not yet finished.

"Defeated by Toby the pig breeder!"

Aragorn sighed and rolled his eyes; he would never live this down. Now that they both knew that he would live and that the wound was not serious enough to cause him much trouble, Halbarad found the whole affair amusing. And deep inside, even Aragorn could not deny the fact that it _was_ ridiculous.

For the next half hour Halbarad amused them both with further versions of the story, snickering and laughing. In the end, Aragorn grinned as well, and when they reached the top of a hill and stopped to look down into the valley, Halbarad sighed deeply.

"Ah my friend, this story will be passed down to our grandchildren. You'll see."

"I'd rather not." Aragorn answered, but Halbarad could easily read the mirth in his friend's eyes.

The valley that spread out in front of them as far as their eyes could see was here and there dotted with clusters of trees, a small brook meandered through it from West to East, and in the West they could see outcroppings of the South Downs. The long grass swayed in the cold winter breeze, and on the horizon the two rangers could see dark clouds that slowly moved their way.

"It is going to rain or snow tomorrow. Or the day after that." Halbarad pointed out and Aragorn nodded. Already the wind that blew into their faces smelled of rain, and they both hoped to find a suitable shelter should it indeed start to storm again.

"Then let us not tarry my friend, but make haste down the hill and towards home." Aragorn said and gently nudged his horse forwards and then down the rolling hill.

Halbarad nodded and followed his friend, keeping a distance of a few yards to give the horses more space to manoeuvre down the steep, grassy hill.

°°°°°°°°°°

The assassin crouched down in the long grass and spied at the two riders. The rangers had stopped their horses on the crest of the hill and were overlooking the valley below. This was a perfect opportunity to strike, and so the assassin soundlessly edged closer to the riders.

The long grass swayed in the breeze, hiding his approach, and in only a few moments the assassin had reached a suitable cluster of bushes. Unslinging his bow from his shoulder, the man nocked an arrow and aimed carefully at the tall, dark haired ranger named Strider.

Just as he was about to let the arrow fly, the ranger nudged his horse and then guided it down the hill and out of sight. Cursing under his breath, the assassin lowered his bow, but he would not let this opportunity pass unused. The other ranger followed the first, and the assassin was tempted to kill this ranger, too, but he would not be paid for this man's death; there was no reason to waste an arrow on him just yet.

The assassin quickly made his way to the right, until he was able to peer over the top of the hill. There, a few dozen yards to his left, the rangers were making their way down the hill, keeping their horses calm and as straightforward-moving as possible. It would not do to ride parallel to the hill, as it was steep, the grass long and wet and the ground littered with lose gravel. One misstep and the horses could falter and crash down.

Grinning, the assassin nocked his arrow one more time, sighted and then let it fly.

To be continued…

_Any comments? I would love to hear what you think._


	3. A Rock And A Hard Place

**Title:** The Assassin

**Rating:** K +

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing that has to do with The Lord of the Rings. I make no money with this story.

**Summary:** On their way back to The Angle from Bree, Aragorn and Halbarad run into more trouble on the way than they can manage. Who will escape the wheels of fate and who will pay the ultimate price?  
**A/N:** Written for the O.A.A. group, upon their adamant request. ;)

°°°°°°°°°°

**Chapter 3: A rock and a hard place**

Halbarad saw the arrow impact with Aragorn's horse a second before he heard its whistle. A moment later, he was ripped out of his shocked state by the pained whinny of the horse, and then everything happened so fast that Halbarad could do nothing more than call his Chieftain's name.

"Strider!"

In pain and scared, Aragorn's horse reared and immediately lost its footing on the wet grass. With another frightened scream the horse sank through its hind legs and then fell to the side, its hooves flailing through the air.

The sudden impact with the ground was hard enough to drive the air out of Aragorn's lungs, but before he had time to contemplate what was happening, his horse tumbled down the steep hill, pulling him with it. He had fallen clear of the horse's body, years of training his instincts saving him. But his legs and hands were still tangled in the stirrups and reins, and when the horse slid and tumbled down the hill, he was dragged down with it.

Once more shouting his friend's name, Halbarad had to watch helplessly as Aragorn crashed to the ground and then tumbled down the hill, the body of the horse dragging him down mercilessly.

Grabbing the reins of his own horse tightly, Halbarad nudged his mount to a swifter walk. He had to get down the hill as quickly as possible. Whoever had shot the arrow was still there somewhere and would surely not hesitate to shoot again, seeing that he had missed his target.

His own horse danced in agitation, but then it followed Halbarad's command and made its way down the steep hill, from now and then slipping on the wet grass. Keeping all his senses alert on his horse and the hill behind him, Halbarad was not able to follow Aragorn's fall with his eyes, and while he descended the hill he hoped that his friend had survived.

He could hear the pain filled screams of Aragorn's horse, high and piercing, more terrible than many things he had ever heard. Pressing his heels down and shifting his weight slightly in his saddle as his horse slipped once more, Halbarad felt cold sweat appear on his brow.

Glancing behind him quickly but seeing nothing and no one, Halbarad took a deep breath and called his friend's name, "Strider!"

Stillness was his only answer, and then another terrible scream from the dying horse met his ears, making him shiver. He needed to get down the hill, he needed to find Aragorn, needed to make sure that he was alive, that he was well, that he had not left him.

The grass before him was pressed flat to the ground, indicating where the horse had tumbled down the hill, and here and there Halbarad could see red blood mingled in the green, and his heard jumped into his throat.

'Aragorn…' 

Finally, after what seemed like hours to Halbarad, he reached the bottom of the hill, where the grass grew so tall that it easily reached up to his horse's belly. He slid out of his saddle with none of his normal grace and immediately crouched low, hiding in the grass in the hope that the archer would not see him.

Halbarad's heart beat frantically against his ribs as he rushed towards the sound of the pained animal. His own descent had led him further to the right to avoid the trampled grass and the loosened gravel.

With slightly shaking hands he parted the long blades of grass in front of him, ignoring the stinging pain when they cut into his hands here and then, his thoughts focused on Aragorn. Once more he called his friend's name, but got no response.

And then, he suddenly stood face to face with the screaming horse. The animal's hooves were flailing through the air, its nostrils were flared, eyes huge and rolling. Blood coated its head and forelegs, and in the split of a second Halbarad knew that it had broken both its forelegs in the fall; the white bones were jutting out of the skin and blood was soaking the earth.

"Easy, easy…shhh, easy." He tried to calm the horse with his voice, forcing it to be steady and low. With the horse to agitated and in pain, he could not approach further without the risk of being hit by its hooves.

But, where was Aragorn? Letting his eyes scan the immediate area, Halbarad saw no trace of his friend. He was neither lying behind the horse, and from what he could tell he was not trapped under it either. There was his pack, the leather strips frayed and broken, his bedroll, supplies…

"Strider! Where are you? Strider?"

A soft moan coming from his left made Halbarad stop, but then the shrieks of the horse drowned it out. But he had heard something, he was sure. Crouching low in the grass, Halbarad made his way quickly over to whence the sound had come from. Now, looking closer, he saw that the grass had been pressed to ground here and there, as if something had rolled through it.

"Strider?"

"Here." The voice was soft and full of pain, and in the split of a second Halbarad had reached Aragorn's side and knelt down.

"Strider?" Halbarad kept his voice low, so as not to give away their position, still hoping that the tall grass was providing enough cover, at least for the moment.

Aragorn was lying on his side, breathing heavily. Mud and torn blades of grass clung to his cloak and clothing, and here and there red spots could be seen, but Halbarad knew not whether his was Aragorn's blood or that of his horse.

Reaching out, Halbarad gently gripped Aragorn's shoulder and rolled his unresisting friend onto his back. Aragorn groaned in pain and his arm was pressed against his chest, indicating bruised or broken ribs. Aragorn had his eyes closed, and when Halbarad moved some strands of dark hair away from his face, he revealed a gash on Aragorn's right temple that bled sluggishly.

"Strider, are you alert? Are you with me?"

For a moment Aragorn did not answer, but then his eyelids fluttered and he opened slightly dilated pupils that gazed up at Halbarad. Blinking a few times as if he tried to bring the world into focus, Aragorn tried to roll onto his side once more, but Halbarad would not release his shoulder.

"Strider, look at me, talk to me." He said urgently.

Aragorn blinked a few more times, and then he his eyes locked with Halbarad's.

"Strider, can you hear me?"

"Aye, I can. Just winded." Automatically, Aragorn had copied his friend's whispered voice, years of being a ranger taking over. Letting out a long sigh, Aragorn tried to sit up, but Halbarad pressed a hand on his chest and held him down.

"No, don't, we are not alone. Stay down."

Frowning, Aragorn gazed up at his friend, his mind trying to catch up with what Halbarad had said. Although he knew not of what his friend was speaking, he trusted him implicitly. "Where?"

"Up the hill, Strider, but I saw no one so far. We have to leave. How badly are you injured, can you move?"

Once more Aragorn tried to get up, but this time he did not attempt to get to his feet but remained in a crouched position. He grimaced as a sharp pain erupted in his chest, and even without examination he knew that some of his ribs were broken. But what was even worse was that the world around him shifted and the ground tilted to the side under him, making him sway dizzily.

Seeing Aragorn's problem, Halbarad quickly wrapped his strong arms around his friend's shoulders and then drew him close to steady Aragorn against his own body. He felt Aragorn sag against him and his level of worry rose a notch. It had never been Aragorn's way to rely on others, and to do so now betrayed his weakness.

Suddenly, Halbarad saw a dark shadow out of the corner of his eye, and he quickly turned his head to look up the hill. A figure crouched there, bow in hand and arrow nocked. It seemed to scan the ground below, searching.

"Strider come, we need to leave. Now."

Aragorn nodded against Halbarad's shoulder but he said nothing. There was no need to; Halbarad tightened his grip on his friend and supporting him as best as he could, he moved away from the hill and the still shrieking horse, deeper into the field of grass.

They more stumbled than actually walked away, with Halbarad supporting Aragorn and from now and then shooting quick glances over his shoulder at the dark figure that still crouched at the top of the hill. The screams of the horse grew fainter, but they were still there.

Aragorn was trying his best to walk on his own, but he felt dizzy and light-headed. Moving seemed to much of an effort for his lungs, as his breath soon came in short gasps. His ribs were on fire, but to his relief, Aragorn tasted no blood; his ribs might be broken, but they had not punctured his lungs.

His body hurt in various places, and he remembered being dragged down the hill by his horse until he had been able to free himself from the saddle. But then it had already been too late and the momentum of his horse and his own downward motion had flung him over his horse and into the grass.

Wincing, Aragorn tried to keep up with Halbarad's pace, but the various hurts in his body made him stagger. Immediately Halbarad tightened his hold on him, pressing on. Aragorn took a deep breath and released the air slowly, forcing the pain to the back of his mind.

He did not understand why Halbarad was saying they were not alone, or why they hid, but he trusted his friend. And if they were truly followed, then Halbarad needed his own strength and the full use of his arms should the need to fight arise.

Gritting his teeth and blinking a few times in rapid succession, Aragorn steadied his steps and pulled away from his friend. But Halbarad would have none of it, and he tightened his hold again.

"No, let me help you. We'll be faster. There is a cluster of bushes ahead where we can rest for a few moments." Halbarad whispered urgently, his voice tense with worry and anticipation.

"Alright." If Halbarad used that tone of voice, Aragorn knew there was no fighting against it, and so he simply hurried on.

For a few long minutes they moved through the tall grass, keeping their heads down and their bodies bend over. From now and then the chill breeze caught the grass and it swayed so strongly in the wind that they feared to be visible, but they heard nothing besides the agonized screams of the horse.

Reaching the cluster of bushes, Halbarad lowered Aragorn to the ground behind them, kneeling down next to him. He swiftly pulled his bow from his shoulder and nocked an arrow, and then peered through the branches back at the hill.

From behind the bushes he was able to see the field and the steep hill, but the horse could not be seen and neither did he see the mysterious figure which he had seen before. Halbarad could hear the shallow gasps coming from Aragorn and he briefly looked at him to make sure that he was still alert.

Aragorn nodded at him, but he made no move to sit up fully or turn around and gaze at the hill as well. He was lying propped up on his elbows, his face pale and the red trickle of blood that ran down the side of his face contrasted starkly with his pale skin. But his eyes were alert and sharp and so Halbarad nodded as well and then turned his attention back to the plain.

The grass bend under the force of the wind, the long blades swaying left and right, and a soft murmur lay over the site. The cloudy sky veiled the sun, and in the murky grey light Halbarad could not clearly see the base of the steep incline.

Breathing shallowly he waited, his bow at the ready. He was carefully watching the grass, as any movement contrary to the wind's movement could indicate the position of their pursuer. But he saw nothing, and after a few minutes he began to wonder whether it had probably been only a hunting accident and the archer had already left in fear of having killed someone.

But then, suddenly, Halbarad saw something dark move down the hill, and when his eyes caught the silver sparkling of metal, he knew that the archer was still there, and was following them. From now and then the shadow stopped in his descent, crouched low, as if to make sure that he was in no danger. Then, the figure reached the bottom of the hill and disappeared into the long grass.

Halbarad narrowed his eyes. They were too far away from the figure to use a bow effectively, but still, he needed to be careful that there were not more. For some moments he tried to pierce the grass with his eyes, but he saw nothing.

Suddenly, there was a horrid screaming from the injured horse and then…silence. Halbarad had no doubt what that meant, and with a cringe on his face he turned to look at Aragorn. Aragorn's face had paled even more, and he nodded grimly, a sad flicker in his eyes.

Halbarad took a deep breath and gazed back out across the sea of grass. Whoever was following them had just killed Aragorn's horse. Perhaps it was better that way, more merciful. The mount would have died anyway, but it nevertheless made Halbarad shiver to know that the archer had killed the horse so quickly and obviously without hesitation.

For many more minutes Halbarad watched the hill and the field, but he saw naught. No movement, no dark shadow, nothing. Adding to his unease was the fact, that he did not see his own horse; it must have fled. But with Aragorn's horse dead and in the hands of the archer and with his own horse bolted, they had barely no provisions or supplies. The only things that they possessed to help themselves were the things that they carried on their body, and that were mostly weapons.

To keep the bow at the ready and to crouch so low took its toll on Halbarad's shoulders and legs, and so he eased up the tension on the string of the bow. As it seemed, whoever had attacked them was not willing to reveal himself and risk to be shot while sneaking up on them through the swaying grass.

And Halbarad had to admit, the longer he gazed out at the field, the more his heart told him to take care of Aragorn. He had not been able to see to his wounds yet, and the fact that his friend had not yet sat up or helped looking for the archer was troubling him.

With a last probing look at the hill, Halbarad lowered his bow and sat back on his haunches. "Whoever it is, he is not brave enough to seek us out."

"That is well, Halbarad, for it gives us time to form a plan of our own." Aragorn's voice sounded strained, and when Halbarad turned and looked at him, he saw that Aragorn had lain down flat on his back without him noticing. His friend's eyes were closed, and the blood trickling from the wound to his head had soaked into the his tunic.

"Strider, how are you?" Halbarad was not able to keep his worry out of his voice, and he scooted closer to Aragorn while he spoke.

"Dizzy, sick to the stomach and sore."

This struck Halbarad almost like a blow to the head. Aragorn rarely, ever truly admitted how he felt. And if the did, it meant that he was either near death, or he was in a situation in which a lie would risk their lives. Halbarad hoped that it was the latter and not the former.

With gentle movements, Halbarad lifted the blood caked hair from Aragorn's temple and inspected the wound. "Have you broken anything?"

An almost rueful smile tugged at Aragorn's lips, "Some ribs, I think."

"Let me see." Halbarad quickly felt each rib, ignoring the small gasps of pain that left Aragorn's lips every time he found a cracked or broken one. Luckily, it were not many and Halbarad knew that Aragorn was used to the pain as this was not the first time he suffered from broken ribs.

"Two are broken, one cracked. Others are badly bruised."

Aragorn nodded, but he did not open his eyes and Halbarad suspected that his friend was trying to control his sick stomach. Halbarad used the time to examine the rest of Aragorn's body. There was blood on his tunic, right over both elbows and at his knees, but that was to be expected after such a fall. His cloak, tunic and trousers were ripped in some places, muddy and had pieces of grass on them. Nothing serious.

Bending over Aragorn, Halbarad once more inspected the cut on the temple. It was deep, but not deep enough to require stitches, which was good as they had no supplies. The cut bled sluggishly and Halbarad took out his knife and cut a strip of cloth from his cloak to press it against the wound to stop the blood flow completely.

Aragorn hissed through his teeth, but he held still and let his friend work. When the bleeding had stopped, Halbarad spoke softly, "Strider, open your eyes, just for a moment. I need to check if you have a concussion."

"No need to, I have one." Aragorn said, but his eyelids fluttered open nevertheless to reveal slightly dilated pupils. Halbarad could see that his friend was not able to focus on his face, and that even the murky light of the cloudy day caused him pain.

"It is well, Strider." He nodded, and with a small sigh Aragorn closed his eyes once more.

For a few moments neither of them spoke, but then Aragorn said softly, "What happened? I only remember falling."

"An arrow hit your horse and it slipped on the grass and then went down the hill. It dragged you along and when I had reached the bottom you had already fallen clear of it."

"An arrow? Are you sure?"

"Aye." Halbarad wiped a hand over his face. "And as I said, we are not alone. I saw a figure on the top of the hill, and he came down and killed your horse. But so far he does not approach."

Aragorn sighed and then he tried to sit up. "We need to leave. Is your horse still around, Halbarad?"

"No, I cannot see it." When Aragorn swayed and almost collapsed back to the ground, Halbarad quickly reached out and steadied him.

"You should not move, Strider. You are not well."

"But we cannot linger here if there is someone out there waiting to kill us." Aragorn said, and his voice sounded stronger, now that he had sat up. He had his arm wrapped protectively around his broken ribs, and he took deep breaths to fight his dizziness.

Halbarad knew that they could not linger, but he was also loath to leave, with Aragorn so injured. He cast a long look at the sky before he voiced his opinion.

"Let me bind your ribs first. It is already late, night should fall soon. We should wait here till it is dark enough to move on."

Halbarad could practically see the wheels turning in Aragorn's head. Of course his friend was as reluctant to stay as he was, but Aragorn was enough of a healer to know that his injuries needed to be tended to, and he was enough of a ranger to know that they would face better chances in the darkness of the night.

"Agreed, Halbarad. But we will head out as soon as it gets dark."

Nodding, Halbarad quickly glanced back at he plain of grass, but there was no movement, and then he began to cut his cloak into strips to use as bandages. He had not even cut the first strip when Aragorn placed a dirty hand on his arm.

"No, you will need your cloak to keep you warm, Halbarad."

"But we have nothing else, Strider."

Aragorn thought for a moment, and then he suggested, "We take half of your cloak and half of mine."

"No, you need your cloak more than I need mine, Strider. You are injured." Halbarad tried to reason, but he could already tell that Aragorn would have none of it.

"Precisely. And therefore you need your cloak as well, should it become necessary to fight for us both or bring… news to our people."

"Strider!" Halbarad could not believe what he had heard, although he knew perfectly well that it was only too true.

"That is an order, Captain." Aragorn said, obviously too dizzy and hurt to argue further, for he rarely ordered his friend.

"Aye, my Lord." Halbarad grumbled under his breath, and then he once more cut strips form his cloak and then from Aragorn's. He wrapped the broken and cracked ribs as gently as he could, but he felt Aragorn tense under his hands and hear him hiss.

With that done, they both sat down in the grass, still hidden by the bushes, and gazed out towards the hill. So far they had heard and seen nothing of their attacker.

When the sky began to darken, Aragorn asked softly, feeling the need to voice his thoughts, "Hal, do you think it might have been an accident? A hunter who thought we were game?"

Halbarad shrugged, but he sounded unconvinced, "It could be, but I doubt it. Would a hunter not have checked on us to make sure that we still lived?"

"Perhaps he was frightened."

"Maybe, but then why come down the hill, kill your horse and disappear? It makes no sense. No, if you want my opinion, I think it was an attempt to kill us."

Aragorn frowned, "An assassination attempt?"

"Would not be the first time, Strider."

"Aye."

And then they said no more, but waited for the cover of darkness to fall so that they would be able to escape.

_To be continued…_


	4. Out Of The Frying Pan And Into The Fire

**Title:** The Assassin

**Rating:** K +

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing that has to do with The Lord of the Rings. I make no money with this story.

**Summary:** On their way back to The Angle from Bree, Aragorn and Halbarad run into more trouble on the way than they can manage. Who will escape the wheels of fate and who will pay the ultimate price?  
**A/N:** Written for the O.A.A. group, upon their adamant request. ;)

**°°°°°°°°°°**

**Chapter 4: Out of the frying pan and into the fire**

When night fell cold and dreary, Halbarad and Aragorn left the cover of the bushes and stole silently through the grass. Low hanging clouds veiled the moon and the stars, and with the little light that they had they were forced to move slower than they wished. The night was eerily quiet, and their movements seemed to be too loud, even to their own ears.

The rest that they had taken had done Aragorn some good; the dizziness had receded to a point where it was merely a nuisance but no longer a hindrance, and the various hurt his body had taken by tumbling down the hill had stopped throbbing. The only thing that now truly hindered him were his broken and bruised ribs, which send fiery stabs of pain through his body every time he took a step.

Aragorn was enough of a healer to know that the concussion he suffered from and which was now latent and sleeping would awake soon and assault him, and so he pressed forwards, despite the ache in his chest.

Soon, the two rangers had left the cluster of bushes far behind them and had vanished in the darkness of the night. The terrain they traversed became more rocky and unsteady the further they got, and once they even had to backtrack and find a new route because the ground became too unsteady to cross at night.

A cold wind blew into their faces and made them shiver under their reduced cloaks, and Halbarad could tell that Aragorn must be suffering under the cold temperatures and the strain he was putting his body through, but so far Aragorn was not complaining and Halbarad knew that he would not.

Midnight came and went and still they hurried on, but they slowed their pace. That was, Aragorn had slowed his pace and Halbarad was glad he had done so. They were still moving too fast for his liking and he would have suggested a rest long ago, had it not been for Aragorn's stern look every time he tried to say something in that regard.

But no matter how strong Aragorn's mind was, his body had taken much abuse that day and was not willing to keep up that speed. Sooner or later, they would be forced to take a rest, and Halbarad hoped that it would be out of their own volition and not because his friend collapsed.

For some more hours they made their way across the plain, all the time keeping low to the ground and an eye and ear open to any sounds of pursuit. So far, they had neither seen nor heard the one that had followed them down the hill, but that did not mean that he was not there. If it had been an assassination attempt, then the assassin would not give up that quickly. They never did.

Suddenly, a flock of bird only a few yards to their left rose from the high grass, twittering angrily and making a loud racket. Halbarad and Aragorn stopped dead in their tracks. Not once during the night had they woken any birds; rangers never did when they travelled in the night, for they knew what they had to look for to avoid being detected.

Breathing heavily with their mouths open to make as little noise as possible, Halbarad and Aragorn knelt down in the grass and listened, their senses alert. Silently and slowly, Halbarad unsheathed a long dagger from the hidden sheath in his boot, the blade of the dagger making no sound as if left the leather sheath.

Licking his dry lips, Aragorn tried to pierce the darkness with his eyes. The long trek through the night had helped his eyes adjust to the blackness that surrounded them, and he was able to make out most of his surroundings. Still, he saw nothing out of the ordinary, but his senses told him that someone or something was near.

Locking his eyes with Halbarad, he lifted two fingers to his eyes and then pointed them to their left, before he pointed them at Halbarad and to the right. The rangers had perfected their own sign language, and Halbarad had no problems understanding what Aragorn meant.

He nodded, and as silent as a cat he made his way to the right, while Aragorn made his way to the left; both heading in the direction from whence the birds had risen. They would try to encircle their enemy.

Unsheathing his own hunting knife, for his sword would have been to cumbersome to use in this situation, Aragorn crept through the swaying grass. His vision was unstable and the images he saw blurred at the edges. The light-headedness had returned and the fact that his ribs were throbbing and hurting immensely did not help his situation. Neither did the fact that his legs felt slightly wobbly under him.

He knew that his body needed a rest, but he also knew that they had to put as much distance between themselves and the assassin as possible. And if the assassin had been able to come so close to them without them noticing, then it was indeed time to take care of him. Now.

Crouching down on all fours and ignoring the pain this caused his already bruised knees, Aragorn slowly moved through the grass. The wind was the only sound he heard, but that did not mean that he was alone.

There!

His heart beat faster in his chest and he felt the familiar rush of adrenalin surge through his body. Only a few feet in front of him the grass was flattened, as if something heavy had made its way through it. The stems of the grass were broken, some even torn from the ground. Aragorn was close to whatever it was that was following them.

Gripping the handle of his knife tighter he sneaked forwards, barely breathing. The wind changed direction, making the grass stems whip into his face, but with the sudden wind came a gap in the grass and Aragorn stopped dead in his tracks.

In a heartbeat he pressed his body flat to the ground, unmoving, holding his breath. His heart beat in his chest and he could feel his blood rush in his ears. A warg! What was a warg doing in this part of Eriador? So far from the Misty Mountains?

But there was no mistaking the great figure of the wolf that lay in the grass, munching away on two dead birds that it had caught. Blood was dripping down the beast's short muzzle and its yellow eyes flickered evilly, but so far it had not smelled Aragorn.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Aragorn slowly backed away from the animal. He knew that in his present condition he stood no chance against the warg. He needed to warn Halbarad and then attack the warg together, or even better, flee. From what he had seen of the warg the animal was starved, and a starved warg was more deadly than a horde of orcs. Normally, he would have taken on a warg any time, but already injured, with lack of sleep and an assassin on their trail, retreat was the more logic way of handling this.

Aragorn had already put some distance between himself and the warg, when the beast suddenly raised its ugly head, sniffing the air. Its ears turned left and right, listening, searching. Pressing himself to the ground and holding his breath, Aragorn ceased all motion.

He heard the warg sniff and then a deep and menacing growl left its throat. In a flash the beast got to its paws, growling. And then, it charged. Aragorn gripped his knife, ready to defend himself and jumped to his feet, but immediately he saw that the warg was not attacking him, but…Halbarad!

When the wind had changed direction it had carried Halbarad's scent directly to the warg. Cursing under his breath and unsheathing his sword while still holding his knife, Aragorn charged after the warg.

"Halbarad! A warg!" Aragorn did not know whether his friend had already identified the threat, but better to be safe than sorry.

Only a few seconds later, the sounds of battle reached his ears, and when Aragorn broke through a thicker cluster of grass, he saw that Halbarad was fighting fiercely. His dagger was embedded in the beasts shoulder, but that only angered the animal further, and it was growling and circling the ranger.

Just when Aragorn reached the site, sword and knife at the ready, the warg jumped at Halbarad with a guttural howl of rage and hunger. The beast threw Halbarad to the ground, but before Aragorn could react, a loud screech of pain filled the air and the warg shuddered violently, before it moved away from the downed ranger.

"Halbarad!"

Aragorn rushed forwards. He could not see his friend as the body of the warg blocked his view. Red blood was running down the warg's side where Halbarad's sword had lodged itself deeply into the thick hide, but the beast was not dead yet. Pain and anger drove it, and with a howl it turned around and then charged at Aragorn.

With barely enough time to avoid being run over, Aragorn turned sharply, twisting his body and slashing at the warg with his sword, while his knife buried itself deeply into the wargs back. But his motion had come a tad too late, and the warg barrelled into his legs while the beast fell to the ground.

It landed halfway on Aragorn's body, pressing him to the hard ground. Grunting, Aragorn quickly lifted his sword and drove it deeply into the wargs unprotected neck, killing it in one swift stroke. In a last effort to survive, the warg tried to turn on its back, legs flailing and yaws snapping, but then it shuddered in the throws of death and breathed its last.

With a deep sigh Aragorn let his head fall back to the ground, breathing heavily. The world swam before his eyes and his ribs throbbed painfully, and for a moment he had the feeling as if he would have to suffocate. But then it passed and he turned his head into the direction of his friend.

"Halbarad? Are you alright?"

"Aye." Came the groaned reply, and a moment later Halbarad got to his hand and knees, shaking his head in an obvious effort to clear his vision. "Just winded."

A small grin appeared on Aragorn's face. "I think I heard that before."

Halbarad snorted in answer and then made his way over to Aragorn, who had not yet moved from his downed position. The dead warg lay sprawled across his stomach and legs, but at the moment Aragorn had not the strength to roll it off of him.

"And you, Strider? How do you fare?" Halbarad knelt next to his friend and with a look of disgust he shoved the warg away, retrieving the dagger and knife in one swift move.

"I fared better." Aragorn answered, but when he saw the mounting concern in his friend's face he added quickly, "At least it was not Toby the pig breeder this time, but an evil warg."

Halbarad huffed, but then reached his hand out and helped Aragorn into a sitting position. "This here does not mean that I will forget Toby."

"I feared so."

While Halbarad cleaned his weapons, Aragorn used the time to control his breathing and the dizziness that had stolen over his mind. The fight had not helped his condition, and he knew that, although he had not sustained any new injuries, he could not move on much further tonight.

Soon, the two rangers were on their way again, but it was obvious that Aragorn was tired and in pain. Halbarad saw the lines in his friend's face that indicated both, and he also detected the barely visible stumbles and missteps that his friend tried to hide.

They moved on for another hour before Halbarad had finally enough. During the last half hour he had seen his friend's face go from merely pale to white and then grey, and he had also noticed that Aragorn had problems breathing.

In the not so far distance, Halbarad could make out the outlines of a small wood. To be frank, it were more some trees that grew there than a real wood, but it would suit his purpose perfectly.

He altered his course slightly and as he had hoped, Aragorn followed his lead without questioning. None of them were truly leading the other; they both knew where they had to go. The forest contrasted against the slightly lighter sky, and the closer they came the darker the trees looked.

A few minutes later the two rangers entered the cluster of trees, picking their way through dry bushes and gnarled tree roots. The earth was dry and the underbrush scarce. As Halbarad had thought, the forest was merely an assortment of trees, and he could even make out the other edge of the small wood, but it would provide a good cover for the coming day.

Spotting a suitable tree, a tall oak with a thick trunk and a relative smooth bark, Halbarad stopped in his tracks and took a deep breath. He felt tired and the muscles in his back and shoulders ached from the constant crouched position and the fight with the warg, and deep inside he knew that he needed the rest as urgently as Aragorn.

"Halbarad, why do we stop?" Aragorn asked through his slightly wheezing breathing. He had stopped next to his friend, his body slightly bend over and one hand pressed firmly against his side.

"I think we should stop here for the day, Strider. The trees will provide a good cover from prying eyes."

Aragorn let his eyes travel over the trees and the few rocks, taking in the leafless branches as well as the dry ground. He nodded. "Aye, let us rest here for the day. There will be no other cover for leagues."

Halbarad blinked. Had Aragorn just agreed with his suggestion to rest? Halbarad had already formed his retort and his argument in his mind, but for Aragorn to simply agree to his suggestion, that was…new.

"Uhm, yes. Good, then…" Halbarad cleared his throat, and then tried again. "Good, then let us rest here and regain our strength. From what I saw of the sky, it will rain or snow today. This oak seems a suitable resting spot, for the branches are thick and intertwined. It will keep the wind at bay and at least part of the rain."

Aragorn gave him a queer look and then shook his head before he let himself glide to the ground, one hand supporting his tired body against the tree trunk. "Hal, did you really think I would argue with you about us stopping here?"

"Well, yes." Halbarad sat down next to Aragorn, resting his back against the trunk, which was wide enough to hold at least four men.

A snort came from Aragorn, before he asked tiredly, "Am I so unreasonable sometimes?"

"Well, Strider, you are known to be stubborn from time to time, and reckless, and determined, and…"

"Thanks, point taken." Aragorn interrupted, and although his voice sounded annoyed, Halbarad could clearly hear the mirth in it.

Pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulder to stave off the cold wind that found its way through the forest, Halbarad gazed at his friend. "How do you fare, Strider? How is your head?"

Aragorn, who leaned against the tree with his eyes closed and one arm wrapped protectively around his ribcage, grimaced slightly. "The concussion is not so bad, I am just a bit dizzy from time to time. Nothing to worry about."

"Aye sure, and that warg was a nice furry puppy that only wanted to play."

"Hal…"

"Strider, we are out in the wild, with no provisions, no horses, no help, leagues from the next village, you are injured and there might be an assassin on our trail. I need to know how you fare."

A soft sigh left Aragorn's lips and then he nodded. "My ribs truly hurt and I have problems focusing. I am dizzy and slightly sick."

"Is that all?"

"That is all."

Halbarad gave Aragorn another stern look, but then he leaned back against the tree and sighed wearily. His body ached from the restless march and he felt tired, hungry and thirsty. Almost automatically he reached to his side to take out his water flask, only to then realize that he had left it with his horse.

Sighing, he grimaced at the thought that they had no water, neither to clean their wounds, nor to still their thirst. Just then, the clouds in the sky opened and it began to hail. Thick hailstones rained from the heavens, bouncing of the leafless branches and hitting the ground hard.

The two rangers huddled closer to the tree and tightened their cloaks around their shoulders, pulling their hoods up to protect them. The hailstorm intensified and the fall of the hailstones became so loud that it was nearly deafening. Halbarad and Aragorn tried to cover their arms and legs with their cloaks and bowed their heads towards their chests. Then, they waited.

The storm raged for long minutes, but then the worst was over, as it usually was with hailstorms, and the hail turned to sleet and then to an icy rain that dripped from the branches and trickled down the tree trunk to soak the backs of their cloaks. The ground turned into mud, and the two rangers lifted their tired bodies up onto some gnarled tree roots; still, within minutes both men were sopping wet and shivering in the cold.

Sighing, Aragorn closed his eyes and tried to relax. His body hurt and now that he was not moving any longer, his muscles became stiff and hard. He would have problems moving at all in the morning, or rather, in the evening.

"At least we have water now." Halbarad commented dryly, and despite his pain and tiredness Aragorn chuckled softly.

"Count on you to see the bright side of this misadventure."

"Well, one of us has to be the optimist, Strider. And besides, it could be…"

"No, don't say it. Don't you dare say it." Aragorn quickly shushed him, eyes glimmering in the darkness.

"Ah come now, Strider. It could be…" Before Halbarad was able to finish his sentence, a bright flash lightened the sky and a few seconds later loud thunder made the very air tremble.

"…worse." Halbarad finished softly, grimacing.

To Halbarad's surprise, Aragorn chuckled softly beside him, and his friend sighed deeply. "Halbarad, sometimes I ask myself why I keep you around. You attract trouble like cheese the mice."

"I attract trouble? I do not think this assassin is after me, Strider." Halbarad said before he could stop himself, but as soon as he saw Aragorn's face in the lightning of the thunderstorm, he slapped himself mentally.

"Strider, I am sorry, I should not have said that."

"No, you are right." Another sigh left Aragorn's lips and he sat up straighter. When he next spoke, his voice sounded determined. "So, what are we going to do? If this man is truly after us, we cannot escape without a horse."

Halbarad thought for a moment, and then said haltingly, "We could turn back to Bree, try to escape the man."

"I don't know. Across the open plain and all the way back to Bree? There would be no cover for days."

"Then what do you suggest?" Halbarad scratched his nose and gazed into the darkness surrounding them. Dawn was not far away.

"Well, if I am not mistaken there is an outpost close to the ford at the Hoarwell River."

"Aye, some of our best men are stationed there, as it is one of the few ways to cross into The Angle. But Strider, the crossing is at least five days from here. In this weather perhaps a few more."

Aragorn looked at Halbarad, his face grim. "Then let us try to stay alive for five more days."

"Aye." Halbarad nodded. He knew it was their best chance to get out of this alive, but still. The way to the ford was dangerous and long, although it would provide better cover than the road to Bree. But with Aragorn already injured, with no supplies and in this weather, this would be five very hard and exhausting days, even for rangers.

They sat in silence for long minutes, both men musing over their next course of action. Dawn was just creeping over the horizon when Halbarad felt Aragorn shiver beside him. Cursing under his breath for not noticing it sooner, he reached out his arm and laid it across his friend's shoulders.

"Come here."

"Halbarad…"

"No, you are cold. And I am cold. Come here now." And with that he drew Aragorn closer until his friend's head rested in his shoulder. It was true, Halbarad was wet and cold, but as a ranger he had long ago grown accustomed to these kinds of discomforts. But Aragorn, being injured, needed the extra warmth.

"Strider, get some sleep. I will take the first watch."

"Wake me for my turn, Halbarad. You will need your sleep."

"Aye, I will wake you." Halbarad drew Aragorn even closer when he felt the shivers that raced through his friend's body, and within mere minutes Aragorn had fallen asleep. The dawn was not greeting them with the sun, but with a grey twilight that replaced the darkness. The thunderstorm moved further West and the rain ceased.

When Aragorn shifted in his sleep, Halbarad readjusted his position so as to be more comfortable, but while he did so his hand brushed past Aragorn's side and Aragorn hissed in his sleep.

Confused and worried, Halbarad bent over and carefully lifted the wet cloak away from his friend's side. Aragorn had not woken, and so Halbarad lifted the outer tunic as well. He saw it immediately and cursed silently. In the grey light of dawn, he clearly saw the red blood that drenched the tunic and shirt, and the bandages that were still wrapped securely around Aragorn's side and the stab wound he had received in Bree.

The wound had started bleeding again.

To be continued…


	5. Fight Or Flight?

**A/N: Many thanks to all the wonderful reviews. I cherish them and safe them all. :o)**

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**Chapter 5: Fight or Flight?**

With Aragorn thus injured, it would be even harder to reach the ford. They would have to go hunting and find suitable resting places, which cost time and energy. The rainstorm of the previous night had supplied them with enough water to last for a day or two, if they were careful, but after that…

Halbarad had seen it necessary to wake Aragorn and then clean and wrap the wound once more. He believed Aragorn when he told him to not have felt the torn stitches, but that did nothing to calm his nerves.

When night descended once more the two of them left their shelter and headed south-east, towards the Hoarwell River and the ranger outpost. The landscape they would have to cross was dotted with more small woods, but also with some patches of rocky ground that would be difficult to traverse at night. Once they reached these rock formations, they would have no other option than to move during the day. To cross them at night would be suicidal.

The rain had made the ground muddy and slippery, and it had taken the two rangers many hours to leave the cluster of trees behind and make their way across the open plains. The hills were hard to ascend and they more slide them down than actually descended them.

The day passed uneventful. They used the long grass as cover, hushed from tree to tree, boulder to hill, always one eye at their surroundings and the way they had come. Both of them wondered whether there was really someone following them, for they had neither seen nor heard anything. But, one of the rules of the rangers was to be better safe than sorry, and as long as they could not be sure that they were indeed out alone here, they would keep up with their secrecy.

They had to stop more than once during the night so that Aragorn could rest. His broken ribs were giving him trouble; his breathing was laboured and sometimes hitched, which caused his sides to hurt and his chest and stomach muscles to cramp. That in return did nothing to help the healing of the stab wound, and when they stopped to rest for the day, the bandage Halbarad had applied in the morning was soaked with sweat and blood.

Sighing in frustration, Halbarad pressed a folded piece of cloth, which he had ripped from his cloak, against Aragorn's wound. They had hidden under an overhang in a low earthen cliff wall. It was relatively dry but if it rained during the day they would be forced to leave the shelter, as the earthen walls looked unstable. But for now, it would do.

The cloth soaked through quickly and Halbarad pressed another piece against the wound to stop the blood flow. Aragorn looked pale and tired; shadows lingered under his eyes and the dark stubble on his chin stood out starkly against the pale skin. Mud and grime coated his hands and clothing, but with a rueful shake of his head Halbarad admitted silently that he probably looked no better.

"Strider, does it hurt much? If yes, then I could go looking for some herbs that have survived the hailstorm." Halbarad asked while he wrapped the wound with strips of cloth. Soon, there would be nothing left of his cloak.

"It hurts, but it is bearable." Aragorn pulled his tunic down and then tightened his cloak around his shoulders to staff off the cold air. He had felt warm while moving, but now, sitting on the cold ground, his muscles became stiff and hard rather quickly, and he felt chilled.

"There is no need to be in pain if there is a remedy for it, Strider. The sun has not fully risen, there is still time." Halbarad looked at the sky, and with a determined nod he rose to his feet. "I will see what I can find."

And before Aragorn could say something to hold him back, he vanished in the twilight, his tall form retreating quickly. Aragorn had half a mind to call him back, but then he shivered and held his tongue. Truth be told, he was in pain.

Of course, being a ranger he was no stranger to pain and suffering, it was part of his everyday life. But the stab wound truly hurt and all the walking and hiding jostled his broken ribs. He longed for a good night's rest and some decent food. A warm fire maybe and dry clothes, a pipe with Longbottom Leaf, perhaps a song…

With a startled sensation in his stomach Aragorn jerked his head up, only now noticing that he had nearly fallen asleep without him noticing. He sat up with a wince, pressing one hand against his wound to support it, before he moved into a very uncomfortable position. A sharp stone dug into his back and he leaned against it, hoping that the discomfort would keep him awake at least until Halbarad was back.

Valar, he had not even felt how tired he was. And, it was he who had slept most during the day, with Halbarad keeping watch. It would not do to sleep now and therewith force his friend to stay awake. Again. Halbarad needed his sleep as well. Both of them could go without sleep for some days, but not under these conditions.

With tired eyes Aragorn watched how the sky slowly turned brighter as the sun woke from its slumber. The dark grey turned into a glowing red and then orange, but the colours were hidden behind thin clouds. With a bit of luck it would stay dry.

Aragorn shuddered when a bout of wind sneaked under his cloak and he breathed in deeply to keep him awake. His legs felt like lead, the muscles stiff and unyielding, and he worried that should a threat arise, he would not be able to defend himself and Halbarad properly. Halbarad…should he not be back by now?

Aragorn sat up straighter, for a moment forgetting his sleepiness. His friend was gone for a rather long time by now and even with the rising sun he could not see him. The grass swayed lightly from left to right, now and then bending under the force of a sudden gale, but Halbarad should be visible to his trained eyes in this light.

For long minutes Aragorn stared out into the morning twilight. Without his conscious thought his hand found its way to the hilt of his sword that still rested at his side. The winter birds greeted the rising sun with much twittering and songs, but Aragorn tuned the sounds out and concentrated on the things he did not hear.

There were no footsteps coming his way, no breathing that would give away his friend's position. No rustling of cloth or the unmistakeable creaking of leather. Surely Halbarad would not go far; not out of shouting distance anyway. For a moment more Aragorn waited, his body tensing involuntarily.

The sun had almost completely risen and the shadows were receding. Where was Halbarad? Aragorn knew that his friend could take care of himself, but that did not mean that he was not worried! Just as he was about to get to his feet and search for him, Aragorn caught movement in the grass.

With a quick move he loosened his sword in its scabbard, making sure that it would glide out easily should he need it. Crouching low, he stared at the moving blades of grass; he could see that someone or something made its way over to his position. He had not forgotten that he had nearly stumbled upon a warg the day before, and so he listened to all the sounds that could give away the approaching being.

He almost sighed in relief when he heard Halbarad's unique footsteps. His friend had a tendency to tread lightly, but with a definitive swing to it, nearly a little jump. It gave him away every time during their training, but right now Aragorn was glad to hear it.

He sank down once more, waiting. Perhaps he could convince Halbarad to rest first; he would manage to stay awake for a few hours if he kept that sharp rock in his back….

"Strider!" Halbarad called to him, and the tone of his voice made the hairs on Aragorn's back stand on end. Something was not right. Something had happened. He quickly got to his feet, but stood hunched over so as not to be taller than the grass. His hand rested in the hilt of his sword, but he could see or hear nothing out of the ordinary.

Halbarad reached him a second later, clearly agitated. "Strider, are you well? Nothing has befallen you while I was gone?" His eyes travelled up and down Aragorn's body as if to make sure that he was indeed alive and not worse then when he had left him.

"Aye, I am well, and no, nothing has happened. Why?"

"We have to leave here, now. Come, I will show you why." Only then did Aragorn notice that Halbarad had his bow in hand, an arrow already on the string, but still lax. Halbarad turned around and headed into the direction he had come from, sure that Aragorn would follow him, which he did.

They moved through the tall grass for some minutes, with Halbarad constantly looking over his shoulder and scanning his surroundings, as if he suspected an imminent attack. Aragorn could feel his tension rising. He knew his friend well enough to be able to tell that something had indeed happened. Otherwise Halbarad would not act the way he did.

"Halbarad, what…."

But Halbarad shook his head and gestured to something Aragorn could not yet see. "I will show you and you will tell me what you think of it. So we will have two independent opinions."

Knowing the merits of this approach, Aragorn said nothing more but followed his kinsman up a small hill, using the few bushes and small rocks as hand and footholds. The ground was still slippery and muddy, forcing the two rangers to pay close attention to where they were placing their feet.

Once down and at the base of the small hill, Halbarad gestured to the left, where the hill made a bend and some low shrubs grew. Moving towards them, Halbarad explained in a soft voice, "I saw these bushes from up the hill and thought that maybe some pain reducing herbs grew in their shadows, sheltered from the worst of the rain. But when I reached them, I saw this."

And with these words Halbarad gestured at something in the mud. When Aragorn reached his side he stepped away, eyes trained on their surroundings, bow at the ready. Aragorn frowned, but then gazed down at what his friend had wanted to show him.

At first, he saw nothing. The ground was overgrown with grass, wet and muddy. There grew no tall grasses on this side of the hill, and for a moment Aragorn was at a complete loss as to what had alerted his friend so. Tilting his head, he took a step to the side, forcing his eyes to gaze at the spot from another angle. And then, he saw it.

His eyes grew larger and with a quick motion he crouched down, one hand pressed at his side to steady the wound, the other tracing the outline of the footprint. The print was almost invisible; the grass had bent back already and the mud had filled it, but it was still there. Perhaps half a day old, maybe a bit longer. It was difficult to tell with the rain and the wind and this unstable ground.

Someone had been here the previous night, a human, and by the looks of the imprint, it had been no ranger. Rangers wore soft leather boots that made little sound on the ground and the soles of the shoes the rangers used were made of strong leather. A material that would make it possible for them to feel the ground they were walking on, while at the same time protecting their feet.

The one who had made this imprint had worn shoes with a leather and wood sole. Shoes that the people in the towns wore, or people who were used to travelling by horse. A cold shiver that had nothing to do with the temperatures crawled down Aragorn's spine. Had the assassin been here? Was it possible that the one who followed them had actually _passed them by_ during the night?

The thought made his hackles rise. He had thought that the one who had attacked them was behind them, but if he was indeed in front of them, then it would be difficult to escape him. Valar, he could be waiting for them after the next rise of the land, or set up traps.

With a heavy sigh Aragorn got to his feet and then locked his eyes with Halbarad. This one look was enough to confirm Halbarad's own suspicions.

"No one travels this far south but the rangers. It must be him." Halbarad said.

"Aye. And he must have abandoned his horse, for surely we would have heard it when he passed us by."

Halbarad took a step closer to him, but his eyes stayed on their surroundings. "It makes sense, in a way. We would have heard the horse and seen him from leagues away, for he would not have been able to hide in the grass. Without a horse, he could overtake us easily."

Aragorn nodded and he felt a stab of guilt in his heart. It was his fault that they were so slow and had been forced to rest constantly during their trek. And furthermore, was this assassin not after him? Had Halbarad not come with him to Bree, or he not come with Halbarad, then they would not be in this situation right now.

Before Halbarad could see his emotions, though, Aragorn turned and gazed at their surroundings. "If he was indeed here and waits for us somewhere, then he must know this territory. Otherwise he would not have been able to elude us."

Halbarad nodded. "Perhaps he even knows where we are heading, and if that is so, then we should ponder whether or not to go somewhere else entirely." He shrugged half-heartedly and then suggested, "We could return to Bree now. Then he would be behind us once more."

Aragorn thought about his for a moment, but then he shook his head. "We would risk him overtaking us once more. He could keep this cat and mouse game up for days, and we lack the provisions to play along. No, we have already made good progress to the ford. I think we should keep to our intended path, but I would hear your opinion on this matter."

Aragorn gazed at Halbarad. It was trued that he wished to hear his friends opinion; after all, it was not only his life that hung in the balance.

Halbarad chewed on his bottom lip for a moment or two, and then he shrugged his shoulders once more, "I agree with you, Strider, although I do not like the idea that he might be awaiting us. We will be sitting ducks for him."

"I know, Halbarad, I know. If we make haste, we could reach the ford in four days. We will move during the nights and use as much of the days as possible, too."

This made Halbarad frown, but he said nothing. He knew that Aragorn needed rest if his wounds were to heal, but he also knew that they needed to make haste. There was nothing won with a healed, but then very dead Chieftain of the Dunedain.

"Then come, Halbarad, let us make good on our words and move on."

Without further ado, the two rangers moved on, despite the weak sunlight that had by now descended upon the lands. With no grass as cover, they felt exposed to unfriendly eyes, and now they dearly wished for another rainstorm, so that darkness and rain would hide their tall forms.

To both their relief the day went by without incident. They stopped every hour for a short rest, but when night fell on the lands once more, Aragorn was unable to move on. His legs and chest hurt tremendously and he felt slightly sick. Halbarad did not feel any better, but he ignored his own discomfort when he saw the almost grey face of his friend.

They found some bushes that would do as shelter, and to their surprise these bushes held some eatable berries, which they devoured quickly. Why, there were even some mushrooms growing under the plants, which helped to ease their hunger. Aragorn and Halbarad filled the rest of their half empty stomachs with water that they drank from one of the puddles that dotted the plains. The water was not as clean as they wished, but it was clean enough.

"Let me see to your wound, Strider." Halbarad scooted closer and had already reached out to lift the cloak and tunic. But Aragorn batted his hand away wearily.

"No, leave it be for now. It does not hurt anymore and will be fine for a few more hours."

And it was true; the wound had stopped hurting during the day, probably due to the fact that it now felt numb. Aragorn knew not whether that was a good sign or a really bad one, given the gravity of the injury, but he was glad that it did not hurt him for a change. If Halbarad would clean and wrap it now, it would start to pain him again, Aragorn was certain of that.

"Let me at least look at it, Strider." Halbarad asked, and Aragorn released a deep breath and nodded. His friend would not rest ere he had seen the wound and made sure that Aragorn was well.

To both their relief the wound had bled only a bit during the day and it did not even require new bandages.

"Well, at least one good thing today."

"We are not dead yet, Hal. I think that is good as well." Aragorn said tiredly. His eyes had already started to drift shut and he was struggling to stay awake. He had been tired when they had stopped in the morning, and only his sheer willpower and determination had made it possible for him to keep up with his friend. But now, he knew that the would not be able to keep awake much longer.

He hated himself for doing it, but there was nothing for it. "Hal, I…Would you take the first watch?"

A startled gaze met Aragorn's own. Halbarad looked at him closely, and then nodded. "Sure. Sleep, Strider, you will need it."

"Wake me, in two hours, Halbarad. You need your sleep as much as I do." Halbarad nodded once more, although he had no intention to do so. He would let his friend sleep as long as he could keep his own eyes open. Two hours were too short to sleep properly. He knew that he needed his sleep, but he would let Aragorn sleep undisturbed for as long as possible and only then would he take his own rest.

Aragorn lay down on the grass that had dried a bit after a day without rain and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, the muscles in his thighs felt ready to spasm and he still felt hungry. His ribs hurt and his whole body seemed to be one big bruise. Now, two days after his tumble down the hill, some more bruises had shown itself and he felt them ache.

Still, before he fell asleep completely, he said softly, but sternly, "And that was an order, Captain. Wake me in two hours."

Halbarad flinched, feeling caught red handed although he had not done anything yet. He turned towards Aragorn to reply, but when his eyes fell on his friend he found him already asleep, with one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other under his head, functioning as pillow.

A sigh left Halbarad's lips and he shifted his gaze outwards once more, making sure that nothing evil befell them. Yawning, he rubbed his eyes. Perhaps two hours were long enough after all…

To be continued…


	6. Trapped

**gulps in lungful of air Am in a hurry, gotta go, but here is the next chapter! ;)**

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**Chapter 6: Trapped**

Not for the first time that day did Halbarad curse their rotten luck. The day which had started grey and misty had turned into a sunny day. The sky was of a brilliant blue with only sporadic clouds. The icy air froze the ground and made their breaths mist in front of their faces.

Any other day, Halbarad would have welcomed the change in weather, but right now, he wished for it to rain, or storm, or hail or be misty. And if he was honest with himself, he whished for it to be all that at the same time. For, that would provide the cover they so desperately needed.

Now that they knew that the mysterious assassin was not only hunting them, but already in front of them, possibly waiting in hiding for his chance to kill them, the two rangers had kept their eyes open for any signs that might give away the assassin's position. And indeed, around midday, when they had rested in the shadow of an old beech tree, Halbarad had found signs of the man. With all the mud freezing, the tracks had not been swept away by wind or water.

For the rest of the day they had kept to the rocks that dotted the landscape, had hushed through the dry grass and stayed to the shadows. But now, with the rocks thinning and the sun shining brightly down from the sky, a few hours from sundown, their tall forms were visible even to the most unobservant eye.

Glancing to his left, Halbarad shadowed his eyes with his hand and peered into the distance. He could barely make out the rock formation that they were heading for and had intended to reach this day. Another glance to his right at Aragorn told Halbarad in no unclear terms that they would not make it that far during the day, and perhaps not even if they travelled through the night as well.

Aragorn looked not only pale, he looked as if he had already died and was on his way to Mandos's Halls. His dark hair and stubble contrasted starkly against his nearly white skin; dark shadows circled his eyes, which were bloodshot and slightly glazed. The wound he had received in Bree had not started bleeding again, but his numerous injuries had caused a slight fever to settle in his body. And without the proper care, rest and food, his body could not battle it the way it would under other circumstances.

Halbarad turned his gaze once more to the rocks in the distance with a frustrated, inward sigh. He knew that there was nothing he could do. They needed to reach the ford and alert the other rangers to their predicament before they met the assassin. Or the assassin met them, he thought darkly.

The longer they saw nothing of the assassin, the more Halbarad felt his stomach churn uneasily. Why was the man not showing himself? Why had he not already tried to attack them? Would it not have been easier for the assassin to kill them when he had overtaken them?

The moment Aragorn coughed softly next to him, Halbarad knew the answer to his questions. Without provisions, the time to hunt and with the need to stay in hiding and at the same time make great haste to reach safety, he and Aragorn would exert themselves to the point of easy defeat. Not only was Aragorn already injured, but Halbarad, too, began to feel the strain of their flight.

No, the assassin did not have to attack them in the open. All he would have to do would be to wait until the two of them were so exhausted that they would not be able to lift their swords or aim an arrow. And Halbarad had no illusions. He knew that the assassin would not attack before they had reached that point. But, that did not mean that he was not watching them or trying to make sure that they reached no help.

Well, that was if the assassin knew that there existed a manned ranger ford not three days away from their current position. Which brought Halbarad back to their problem. They were standing in the open, on a wide plain that provided no cover. No trees, no bushes, no rocks, nothing. They needed to move.

"Strider, how are you?"

Another cough, then Aragorn's rough voice answered him, "Well enough."

Halbarad snorted. Why was he even trying?

"Good. Then let us go on. These rocks will provide sufficient shelter for the night."

With a sideways glance at Aragorn, Halbarad started to move into the direction of the rocks. Aragorn followed a few steps behind him, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Not for the first time that day Halbarad wondered whether Aragorn had the hand at the sword out of habit, or because it provided some kind of strange support for the tired man.

They travelled until nightfall, always on the lookout for signs of the assassin. They passed some dead bushes shortly before dusk, and some of the branches had been snapped in two, but they could not tell how long ago that had been or if it had been made by an animal or a human.

When darkness fell around them and the air turned icy, the rock formation still loomed in the distance. It looked as if they had made no progress at all, although their tired limbs told them differently.

Sighing and tilting his head sideways to work out the stiffness in his neck, Halbarad commented, "It is getting dark. Perhaps we should rest here and go on once the moon rises."

Aragorn glanced at the darkening sky. The moon was still low in the sky and its silver light was weak. "No, we should go on for a bit longer. We will be easily visible once the moon is up."

And with that Aragorn sped up his steps, passed by Halbarad and strode determinedly, if slightly swaying, towards the rock formation.

Halbarad shook his head. Sometimes it was beyond him how someone could be such a good leader, and at the same time be so incredibly stubborn. Taking a deep breath and almost instantly regretting it when his lungs practically froze mid-breath, Halbarad followed his friend.

Perhaps it has to do with his ancestry, Halbarad mused. Or with the fact that he has lived most of his life alone. If one was to survive, then one would have to have a strong will. With a sudden pang of regret, Halbarad mused that surely Aragorn would have perished long ago, were he not that stubborn.

While the moon rose in the sky, the two of them hurried onwards, and when the open plain was bathed in a silver light, they stopped for a quick break. Flopping down on the dew covered grass that would be frosty in the morning, Aragorn and Halbarad massaged their arms and legs to keep the warm muscles supple. The chill in the air and their inactivity would cool the muscles too fast, making them hard and stiff.

But sore muscles were not their main problem, as they both knew only too well. It had not rained during the day and the puddles that had been left after the rain storm had dried out already. There was no stream from which they could drink, and their thirst was great after the restless march through the wilds.

But where Halbarad was merely thirsty, Aragorn felt his thirst more strongly. The fever that had settled in his body had drained him of energy and water; his throat was raw and dry, hurting every time he spoke or swallowed. His skin already had a grey hue, and the pounding in his head told him in no unclear terms that he needed water. Quickly. Even a ranger could only go so long without the proper provisions.

Another cough tore at his already sore throat and Aragorn wiped a weary hand across his eyes. Valar, he felt so tired. When had he become that exhausted? He was used to going on for days and days with little sleep and food. While he had been in Rohan he had been forced to find his way back to his company after a skirmish with the Dunlendings, and he had travelled through Rohan for days with only his water skin and sword. And, he had been injured that time, too. So, why was he feeling now, after only three days, as if he had marched through the Emyn Muil for weeks?

Perhaps because I was already weary of the Wilds when we rode to Bree, Aragorn thought darkly. Or because I am tired of hiding and fighting. Truth be told, Aragorn was not only tired of fighting, but tired of his life in general. He had spent the last four years in the Wild, and his return to the rangers had not been as he had hoped it would be.

During the cold and long nights that he had spent in the forests close to the Misty Mountains, or in a hot, stinking tavern somewhere in the middle of nowhere, he had dreamed of the Dunedain villages, with their warm fires, friendly faces and welcoming atmosphere. But then, when he had returned to civilization, it had been different.

He had felt cooped up in the houses, watched and scrutinized by the rangers and their families, and had felt the walls close in on him every time he had lain down to sleep. For the first nights he had actually considered returning to the Wild, but his hope that things would change once he got used to living amongst other people again had kept him in the village.

But things had not changed, and when the trip to Bree had been discussed, he had seized this as an opportunity to escape. And now? Now he felt tired of the Wilds and the battle he had to fight to survive. Again.

Sighing wearily, Aragorn felt his chest tighten. For many years the Wilds had been his home, his sporadic visits to civilization the exception. And now, now he felt neither at home in the villages of the Dunedain, nor in the wilds. Was he now truly an exile? Bound to nothing and nowhere at home?

Aragorn had once heard that home was where the heart was. But at the moment, his heart was only weary and burdened. The prospect of returning to the village held no comfort for him. Aye, he did want to reach its safety and warmth, but after that? When he was healed, where would he go from there?

"Strider?" Halbarad's worried voice broke through his dark thoughts, and with a start Aragorn realized that he had nearly fallen asleep, so immersed had he been in his thoughts.

Blinking repeatedly, Aragorn took a deep breath to clear his head.

"Strider, are you well enough to move on?" From the tone of Halbarad's voice it was clear that he wanted to hear the truth. He would not go if Aragorn was not up to it.

A sigh left Aragorn's lips and he rolled his head on his neck to wake up completely. "I am tired, Halbarad, as are you. But we should go on and try to reach the rocks tonight. The longer we need to reach the ford, the more chances this assassin will get."

Halbarad nodded and then stood up giving him another long, searching look, "Then let us go." He reached down and helped Aragorn to his feet, mindful of the broken ribs and the stab wound.

For a moment or two Aragorn swayed on his feet, feeling dizzy and light-headed, and Halbarad steadied him until he found his balance.

"Strider…."

"No, we will go on. If we do not, the assassin has already won. We will not make it without water and food, and…some healing supplies."

"Aye." Halbarad agreed dejectedly, but he had been a ranger long enough to know all this, too.

With the light of the moon illuminating their path, they made their way from shadow to shadow, coming ever closer to the rock formation. The wind picked up, and with it the temperatures dropped further, making the two rangers shiver. Mist formed in front of their faces, and they tightened their cloaks around their shoulders for protection.

Halbarad, who was a few steps in front of Aragorn, kept his eyes trained on their surroundings, ever watchful for signs of the assassin. An eerie quiet lay over the plain, and only the howling of the wind and the pebbles that crunched under their feet could be heard.

A crow cried somewhere to the right, sending a cold shiver down Halbarad's back. Licking his dry lips, he turned his head and gazed at some dry bushes some distance away, from where the cry had come. Was the assassin hiding there? Was he waiting for them in the dark, ready to strike?

He narrowed his eyes, peering intently into the darkness. Had the bush moved? Or was it just the wind? Halbarad gripped the hilt of is sword more tightly. If the assassin was waiting for them, he would have to go through him first before he would lay a hand on Aragorn!

Loosening his sword in the scabbard, he made a step into the direction of the bushes with the intention of investigating the sound he had heard and the movement he thought to have seen.

He heard it the split second before he felt the excruciating pain speeding up his leg. The metallic click of iron jaws snapping shut around his foot, and the blood curling sound of metal meeting flesh and bone.

With a pained scream leaving his lips Halbarad fell to the ground, immediately gripping his right leg with both hands, sword forgotten. His searching fingers met the iron jaws of the trap, which had tightened around his leg, in the middle of his calf. The teeth of the trap had entered his flesh, hurting skin and muscle, only to be stopped by the bone. Blood was already drenching his trousers and boot, staining the ground a dark red.

"Halbarad!"

To be continued…

**Mwuahahahaha... please don't kill author ;-)**


	7. A Blessing In Disguise

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**Chapter 7: A blessing in disguise**

"Halbarad!" Feeling the tiny hairs in his neck stand on end when Halbarad's pain filled scream reached his ears, Aragorn hasted to the downed man's side. He fell to his knees, ignoring his own bruises, and grabbed Halbarad's shoulders.

"Hal? What happened?" It was too dark to see by now, and all that Aragorn could make out clearly were his friend's scrunched up face and the iron trap that held him captive. But, that did not mean that nothing else had happened.

"Arg, my leg. I stepped in a …damned trap." Halbarad grunted in pain. He sat bent over, with his head resting on his drawn up knee, his hands gripping his leg just under the knee. Red blood seeped between his fingers and the knuckles of his hands shone white under the skin.

"Does something else ail you? Were you attacked?"

The only answer Aragorn got was a shake of Halbarad's head. By now, the amount of blood that stained his trouser leg and boot was dripping onto the ground. Taking a quick but thorough look around, Aragorn shifted nearer to Halbarad's right leg. There was no doubt in his mind that this trap had been laid by the assassin; there were no settlements this far south from the road and hunters never came here for there was no game. No, this trap had been set up to stop them.

Licking his dry lips, Aragorn eyed the trap. It had snapped shut around the leg in the middle of the calf; the teeth of the trap had entered the flesh, making gruesome wounds that bled freely, while only the bone had been able to stop them. Had a smaller animal or even a younger man than Halbarad stepped into his trap, the trap would have severed the leg from the body.

Valiantly trying to block out Halbarad's pants of pain and the slight rocking motion he had started to deal with it, Aragorn unsheathed a dagger from his boot. "Hal, I need to open the trap."

"I know." Halbarad ground out between clenched teeth. Sweat stood on his brow and his breathing had sped up to the point of it becoming dangerous.

"Take deep and slow breaths, Hal. I will tell you when I start." Aragorn kept his voice calm, despite the urgency he felt. The trap looked anything but new; rust and mud and Valar knew what caked the metal, and here and there Aragorn meant to see dried blood that did not belong to Halbarad.

With the weak light of the moon, Aragorn ran his fingers over the underside of the trap, searching for the mechanism that wound open it. When he found it, he cursed inwardly. He should have known that the assassin would destroy the opening mechanism!

Schooling his features, so that Halbarad would not see his concern, he began to search for signs of weakness in the metal, but to his dismay he found none. With red blood covering his hands, he gripped the hilt of his dagger tighter.

"Hal, I need to pry the jaws open. It will hurt a lot."

"Go…ahead. Nothing I have not been through…b-before." Halbarad gave Aragorn a weak grin that did nothing to assure Aragorn, before he took a deep, shuddering breath and fisted his hands into his cloak, so that he would not lash out at Aragorn once he began to work on the trap.

With a last, worried look at his friend, Aragorn scooted closer to the jaws of the trap. With all the blood covering the iron, he could barely make out where the leg ended and the trap began, but after a moment Aragorn set to work.

The dagger slid easily between the jaws of the trap, close to the base where Halbarad's boot had hindered the trap from snapping shut very tightly. Moving the dagger upwards and turning the blade from left to right, Aragorn slowly pried the jaws open, if only marginally.

Gripping the jaws with his free hand, Aragorn tried to open them further. The blood made the metal slippery, causing him to cut himself on his own dagger. He ignored the pain that lanced through his left palm and instead tightened his grip on the jaw. By now, the teeth were halfway out of Halbarad's leg; if he lost his hold on the trap and let it fall shut again, the bone would probably not stop the teeth this time.

When the trap was coming open, Aragorn cast his dagger to the ground, using both hands now. Halbarad was gasping from the pain, having clenched is eyes tightly shut. His dark hair was soaked with sweat and clung to his face, while his skin was so pale it shone white in the moonlight.

Slowly, Aragorn rose on his knees, using all his strength to open the trap completely. To his surprise, the mechanism of the device did not allow the trap to be opened easily once it had been first opened. Instead, it became even more difficult to pry the jaws apart now that the trap was not shut anymore.

A shuddering breath left Aragorn's lips. The exhaustion of the last days and his own injuries made themselves known now that the first excitement was over, and Aragorn felt the muscles in his arms begin to tremble. Sweat appeared on his brow and the cough that he had tried to suppress all day itched in his throat. If he coughed now, he would surely lose his hold on the trap!

"Hal, you must help me. Can you move your leg?" Aragorn brought out, while trying to hold the trap open.

A moan reached Aragorn's ears, but a moment later Halbarad lifted his head. "C-can't. Hurts too…much."

"You must, Hal. I can't hold the trap open much longer." The trembling in Aragorn's arms had reached his hands, and before his very eyes the jaws of the trap began to close again.

"Halbarad, you must lift your leg and pull it out of the trap."

Another groan left Halbarad's lips, and with a grimace of pain he tried to lift his leg off the ground. Almost immediately a cry of agony resounded across the plain and Halbarad fell back, panting.

"Can't. I can't."

Feeling his throat itch more and more, Aragorn said as sternly as he could, given the circumstances, "I won't say it again, Captain. Move!"

Moaning, Halbarad gripped his right leg just above the knee and slowly, very slowly lifted his foot off the ground. With a grunt of pain he lifted his leg further and then out of the trap. The leg had just left the confines of the trap when Aragorn's strength gave out and the jaws snapped shut with a sickening sound.

For a second both rangers sat on the ground, panting, before Aragorn wiped a hand across his sweat covered brow. Scooting closer to Halbarad, he quickly took Halbarad's hands in his own and pressed them against the puncture wounds, while he began to cut stripes of cloth from his own cloak.

"Keep your hands pressed on the wounds, Hal. We need to stop the bleeding."

Still panting to channel the pain, Halbarad opened one of his eyes and glared up at Aragorn, "Sometimes I hate you, you know that." His voice sounded only partly angry, and Aragorn knew that Halbarad was not truly serious.

Ripping a long strip of cloth from his cloak, he answered, "I know, Captain. I know."

For the next half hour Aragorn kept Halbarad's leg elevated, so as to give the wounds I chance to stop bleeding. He wrapped the wounds with the bandages he had made, but he had neither water to clean them, nor herbs to counteract any poisons that might have been covering the trap's teeth.

Sitting back and gently lowering Halbarad's leg back on the ground, Aragorn sighed wearily. "The bleeding has stopped. The bandages will have to do for now, Halbarad. When the sun has risen and I have more light to see by, I shall take a closer look at the wounds and see if there are any objects in them, like stones or grass."

"Great. Something to look forward to." Halbarad said sarcastically, but his words lacked his usual strength. The exhaustion of the days past and the blood loss had sapped his strength.

"Can't you give me something for the pain? I mean, there are so many grasses around us, and some bushes. Surely some of them have healing powers."

"I wish I could, Halbarad." Aragorn rubbed his broken ribs ruefully. "Nothing that could help us grows here."

Sighing in frustration, Halbarad said sarcastically, "And here I thought travelling with one of the best healers West of the Misty Mountains would help keep me alive."

"Even I cannot produce healing herbs out of thin air, Halbarad."

"Ah, aye. Remember me to ask Gandalf how to do it next time we meet him." Halbarad wiped a hand across his eyes and sighed wearily. "My leg hurts."

Snorting, Aragorn patted his friend's good leg. "At least you still have your leg and the bone is not broken. You were lucky Halbarad. This trap could have crippled you for the rest of your life."

A grimace flittered across Halbarad's face. "With this injury, our lives will not be that long anyway. We will not be able to escape the assassin and reach the ford."

Coughing, Aragorn only shook his head. When the coughing fit eased, he commented. "Then, perhaps, it is time to change our tactic."

Frowning, Halbarad asked, "What do you mean, Strider?"

"Well, up until now we played by his rules. Perhaps it is time to change that. From the beginning this assassin has been one step ahead of us. Literally." Aragorn grimaced in dismay, but quickly went on, "You are right. With you injured thus and me…well, not up to my usual self, we will not reach help in time. No one will be looking for us for the next few days at least; we are on our own. So, I say we stop being the mice and become the cat."

"And how are you planning on doing that? We have no means to set up traps of our own."

A small smile flittered across Aragorn's tired face. "But what better traps than ourselves?"

And while Aragorn helped Halbarad into a standing position and then across the plain into the direction the rock formation that they had been heading in, he began to explain the half formed plan he had in his mind.

°°°°°°°°°°

With Halbarad's injury, Aragorn supported most of his weight during their march to the rock formation, which had caused his own injuries to flare to new levels of pain. The slight fever rose during the night and the cough worsened as well. But, given Halbarad's own pain and exhaustion, he had not bothered to comment on it. As it was, there was nothing that could be done, anyways.

The frequent breaks they took to rest gave Aragorn the opportunity to catch his breath and check on Halbarad's wounds, but every time they rose again to move on, he felt his head spin. His thirst worsened his sore throat, but by morning Aragorn no longer felt the pain. It was a bad sign, he knew, but he was too tired to really care. Still, both of them knew that should it not rain soon, they would die because of thirst long before the assassin killed them.

The walk towards the rock formation took them the whole night and most of the next morning. When they finally reached the rocks, they were so exhausted that they simply slumped to the ground, unheeding of the danger they probably were in, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Aragorn was the first to stir, only a few hours later. And, it was not by his own wishes that he woke, but because a dry coughing fit made his body tremble and the breath catch in his throat. Sitting up, he bent his head over his knees and tried to draw deep breaths into his lungs, but it did not work and the fit did not lose up.

For many minutes he coughed and coughed, unable to control his breathing, and when the coughing spell finally left him, his muscles felt shaky, his broken ribs send a fiery pain through his chest and his head pounded in the rhythm of his heartbeat. Sighing, Aragorn did not sit up but stayed slumped over his drawn up knees. When had his cough gotten so bad?

"Strider, are you alright?"

For a moment Aragorn considered not responding to that stupid question at all, but the concerned tone of Halbarad's voice made him lift his head. "I am sorry I woke you. Rest a bit more, Halbarad."

Snorting, Halbarad sat up with a grimace. "Na, I am not really tired anymore. Slept enough." The huge yawn that nearly split his face in two made Aragorn raise an eyebrow.

"No, really Strider. I am awake." Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and glancing around, Halbarad scratched his bearded chin. "So, how are you?"

Aragorn sighed briefly and resisted the urge to lift his hand and massage his pounding temples. "Worse, but not beaten yet."

Scooting a bit closer so that he could get a better look, Halbarad questioned, "Has your wound started to bleed again?" Halbarad might have been in too much pain the previous night and much of the morning, but now, after having rested, his head felt clearer and he knew that supporting his weight during their march might well have reopened the stab wound.

"Um, I don't know." Lifting his tunic and shirt, Aragorn ran a hand across the bloody bandage that covered his upper body, but when he removed his hand there was no fresh blood on it. "Apparently not. And by now the wound should have healed enough to not bleed again."

Halbarad gave him a brief smile, "Unless someone uses you as a punching bag."

"Aye. But lets hope it does not come to that. How do you feel?"

"Better, actually. Sleeping has helped." Halbarad gave their surroundings another long look. "What now?"

Aragorn let his eyes travel across the sunny plain. From their position, the Hoarwell River was only a shiny ribbon in the far, far away distance. The rock formation rose many feet into the sky, providing shelter for many birds and animals, but in this time of year most of the birds had left for warmer reaches and the mountain goats had moved off to the East, to find better feeding grounds.

When they followed the rock formation eastwards, they would have cover on one side for at least a whole day. After that, they would be out in the open plains again, with nothing but the high grasses and some trees for cover.

Suppressing another cough, Aragorn gestured at the river, "That is where we want to go. So, we will go there."

"Ah, yes." Halbarad shook his head. "Can you be a bit more specific, please?"

Raising an eyebrow, Aragorn tilted his head to the side, "What? I was not specific enough for you, Captain?" Humour glittered in his eyes despite his hunger and thirst.

"Did you command your armies like that while you were in Gondor? No wonder you had to leave there, surely they thought you to have lost it." Halbarad teased.

Something akin to hurt flickered through Aragorn's eyes and in the next second he turned his head away, gazing out at the plain. With a matter of fact voice he said, "We will stay close to these rocks, for shelter and protection. Once we reach the outcroppings in the east, we will wait for nightfall and then make our way across the plains and towards that cluster of trees you can see even from here. From there we will be able to reach the river in only a few hours. The steep banks of the Hoarwell will give us cover and enough water and food to sustain us until we locate the ford and therewith the ranger outpost.

"We will travel during the nights and rest most of the days. I know that traversing these rock formations at night is suicidal, but the moon will provide us with enough light to see by. And I take the rocks any night over an assassin that is out to kill me."

Aragorn gave Halbarad a strange look. "Precise enough?"

"Strider, I did not mean to…I mean, I did not want to suggest that your leaving Gondor had anything to do with…"

Before he could finish his apology, Aragorn interrupted him, "No offence taken. Come, let us move on. It is only a few hours from dusk and we should search for some water before we head out tonight. Perhaps these rocks have held the water from the previous rainfalls better than the plains."

And with that, Aragorn got to his feet, using the wall in his back for support. He held out a hand for Halbarad, who took it gratefully, and soon they were on their way again. The stonewalls made for an excellent support for Halbarad, and so Aragorn was able to scout a bit, while Halbarad followed more slowly.

With one hand shadowing his eyes and the other supporting his weight against the wall to his left, Aragorn gazed out over the open plain. The sun would set soon, and so far they had found no water. There had been some very small puddles in the shadows of the rocks, but it had not even been enough to wet a handkerchief. If they did not find water soon, his plan to rest during the day and travel at night would not work out. They had gone a day without anything to drink, and soon they would feel the first true signs of the lack of water. Hallucinations among them.

When Aragorn saw nothing out of the ordinary, he turned his head and gazed back the way he had come. Halbarad was just making his way around a bend in the rock formation, braced against the stonewall and more hopping than actually walking. Dried blood covered most of his pant leg and boot, but the bandage was still relatively blood free, much to Aragorn's relief.

Turning, he slowly made his way further east. This scouting not only gave him the chance to dictate his own speed, but also gave him the opportunity to think about what had happened back at their resting place.

Why had he taken Halbarad's teasing words so to heart? Perhaps it was only because he was tired, hurt and hungry. That would make everyone's temper short. Sighing, Aragorn shook his head. No, that was not the reason he had practically insulted his friend. No. It was more the fact that Halbarad's words had reminded him of the fact that he had no home in Gondor any longer.

Once, when he had been Thorongil, Gondor had been his home. He had enjoyed his life in Minas Tirith for a long time and had had many good years in the White City. Until, well until he had become a bit too good, a tad too important to the Lord Steward. It had saddened his heart when he had left Minas Tirith and Gondor behind, and his return to the North had not truly helped to fill the gap that his leaving had left in his heart.

Given, living in Gondor had not been easier than being a ranger. He had had his share of fights and battles, bloodshed and misery. As a Captain, he had been responsible for his soldiers and he had seen many a honourable men die on the battlefield. But still, it had been different responsibilities than he had now.

Being responsible for soldiers who knew that they could die every day was something completely different than being Chieftain of the Dunedain. Rangers, women, children…

Aye, it was different. Perhaps even more difficult than leading a whole army.

But that was not the only reason he had been so short with Halbarad, and Aragorn knew it well. Being reminded of Gondor had only driven the point home, that he had no place to call home. Not in Imladris, not in the Dunedain villages, not in Rohan, or Gondor or anywhere. At least, these places no longer felt like home to him.

Aragorn sighed wearily and licked his dry lips. He would apologize to Halbarad, but he knew he would not be able to explain why he had acted as he had. That would simply take too long and Aragorn felt that he had neither the will nor the constitution to do so now. Maybe once they were back in the village…

Suddenly, Aragorn stumbled over a sharp rock and, being unable to catch his balance, he fell forwards on hands and knees, reopening the shallow cut on his left palm and scratching his fingers on the stones.

"Great. Simply wonderful." Grumbling under his breath, Aragorn moved to get back to his feet, when he suddenly stopped dead in his movements. He blinked in surprise. Then, a genuine smile lit up his face.

"Well now, that fall was a blessing in disguise."

To be continued…


	8. Cat and Mouse

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**Chapter 8: Cat and Mouse**

"Halbarad!" Aragorn rose to his feet quickly, eager to show Halbarad what he had found. But rising quickly to his feet was a bad idea as it made him extremely dizzy, and he had to steady himself against the rock wall to not keel over. Once his vision had cleared, Aragorn saw that Halbarad had nearly reached his side.

"What is it, Strider?"

A broad grin lit up Aragorn's tired face. "Something that will lift your mood, Halbarad." Aragorn turned around slowly, so as not to get dizzy again, and then gestured at the spot where he had fallen.

Sidling up to Aragorn, Halbarad breathed heavily and gazed at what Aragorn was showing him. "Valar. How did you find that?"

"Luck." Aragorn deadpanned, before he gripped Halbarad's arm and supported him while they made their way down a rocky slope, off to one side of the rock formation. It was only a small slope, barely worth mentioning, and Aragorn would have surely overlooked it, had he not nearly fallen down it.

As it was, his fall had shown him one very important thing. At the bottom of the slope, sheltered and shadowed by the rocks, was a shallow depression…and that was half filled with water.

Gravel littered the slope and it took them a few minutes to reach the ground. Aragorn helped Halbarad to kneel down, one arm pressed against his chest to support his own broken ribs, and then they both drank form the clear water, sating their raging thirst.

"Ah, that felt good." Halbarad sighed and leaned back against one of the rocks that dotted the ground.

Wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, Aragorn nodded. "Aye. A shame we cannot take some of it with us. But at least I can clean your wounds now."

Grimacing, Halbarad gave Aragorn a pained look. "Is that truly necesarry? I mean, look, it nearly doesn't hurt at all."

"Nice try." Aragorn cut some more pieces of cloth from his already tattered cloak, cleaned them as good as he could in the water and then returned with them to where Halbarad sat. "Do you need to drink more? Once I start cleaning your wounds the water will be tainted."

Halbarad waved a hand in the air and placed it then on his belly, "I had my fill. You?"

Shaking his head, Aragorn slowly unwrapped the soiled bandages that wound around Halbarad's leg. The dried blood made the cloth stick to the skin, and soon the water in the small depression was tinted with red blood.

"I cannot see anything in the puncture wounds and the skin does not look inflamed. A small miracle given the state of the trap and our journey." Aragorn knotted the new bandage in place and sat back on his behind.

"Thank you, Strider, it already feels better." Halbarad gave the bandage an experimental tug.

"Hal, I want to apologize. I had no right to…" Aragorn began, but Halbarad interrupted him.

"Its alright. It was not my intention to offend you and I think…maybe we are both not up to our usual selves."

"Aye, maybe." Aragorn said no more, gazing up towards the crest of the slope they had come down. From the look on his face Halbarad could tell that there was more to the matter than met the eye, but he decided to let it rest for now. As hungry, tired and in pain as they both were, they would probably only end up arguing with each other.

Time to change the topic. "So, that plan of yours. When do we set it into motion?"

Aragorn shrugged. "Why not right now? I am sure he watches us. As soon as we exit this ditch, we will start."

Halbarad gave him a lopsided grin. "I hope this works."

"Why, my plans always work out in the end." Aragorn got to his feet and gave his friend a lift up.

"That is what is worrying me, Strider."

°°°°°°°°°°

"This is insane." Halbarad muttered under his breath, all the while pressing his body against the ground in the dried out riverbed that he had literally stumbled over.

For the rest of the day and the following night and day, Aragorn and he had made their way eastwards, the rock formation to their left for shelter and protection. The water had revived them greatly, and both felt some of their strength returning.

But, instead of walking faster, they had slowed their pace, resting more frequently and longer than before. At the end of the night they had more stumbled than walked, using the rocks for balance and as a crutch.

In Halbarad's opinion, they had made a good show of two extremely exhausted, hungry, thirsty and generally defeated rangers. The bad things was, that it was not as far from the truth as Halbarad wished it would be. Maybe he was not thirsty any longer, and his hunger had turned to a stomach ache that would vanish soon, but he still felt tired and he was in pain. And he knew that Aragorn was not feeling any better.

"Curse his damn plan." Halbarad grumbled and shivered as a cold gust of wind hit him. Night settled slowly over the rock outcroppings, deepening the shadows and making it even more difficult for him to see Aragorn.

For, that was what he was supposed to do. In principle, Halbarad found the plan good. But, under the given circumstances, it was too risky. It was Aragorn's plan to make the assassin believe that they were at the end of their strength. That they were ready to drop and at the end of their rope.

In the late afternoon they had split up. Aragorn had made a good show of leaving the hobbling Halbarad behind, and Halbarad had played his part in looking half dead on his feet. The plan was to make the assassin believe that Aragorn would go on alone for help; after all, the river was only a day and a bit away now. If Halbarad would have been as injured as they wanted the assassin to believe, he would indeed have tried to convince Aragorn to leave him behind and return with help.

Once Halbarad had lost sight of Aragorn and had waited sufficiently, he had followed Aragorn. It had been more difficult to follow him than he had at first anticipated. The rock formation became lower and soon the rock outcroppings were the only things that could be used as shelter and hideout.

According to their plan, Aragorn had stopped in the late afternoon. The spot he had picked was perfect; there were rocks in his back and to his right and the open plain to his left. Halbarad had circled the spot when he had stumbled over the dry riverbed, instantly choosing it as hideout. From here, he could not only see Aragorn, but most of the open plains surrounding him as well. If the assassin would truly strike this night, Halbarad would see him.

That was all good and well, but Halbarad had not thought of the fact that lying still and unmoving in the dry riverbed would make his sore muscles cramp. The wind assaulted him mercilessly, too, although he was only a little target. Clouds had stolen over the sky during the day, and now the moon was veiled, making the night as dark as the inside a cave. And to top this all off, lying on the ground made Halbarad incredibly sleepy.

Suppressing a yawn, Halbarad rubbed his eyes, wishing for something that would keep him awake…preferably something warm.

The night settled over the lands, silent as a thief and dark as a bottomless abyss. Soon, it was so dark that Halbarad could barely see his hand in front of his face, and he knew that should the assassin attack now, he would not be able to see him. Why, he could not even see Aragorn!

Still, Halbarad did not move, knowing that their plan would be screwed should he move. So, he tilted his head this way and that, hoping to hear the assassin. There were no nocturnal animals this time of year in this area, beside the occasional howl of a wolf or the scurrying of some mice. If the assassin moved tonight, Halbarad was certain he would hear him.

Hours passed and nothing happened. Midnight came and went, and it became more and more difficult for Halbarad to fight sleep. His eyelids felt like leaden weights and once he had roused himself in the last moment before he had fallen asleep. As it was, he had taken to pinch himself or move his injured leg to stay alert.

Another gust of icy wind made him shiver, reminding him that it was already winter. The little bit of dew that had gathered on the ground was already frozen, and the ground was so cold that it had easily seeped through Halbarad's clothing.

Shortly after midnight, the clouds drifted away, leaving the sky clear. The moon shone brightly down from the sky and the start twinkled merrily. To his relief, Halbarad could now easily make out the huddled form of Aragorn, but he knew that with a cloudless sky, the night would turn even colder.

With an inward sigh, he tightened his cloak around his shoulders. If the assassin did not strike soon, they would have to keep the masquerade up the next day and night as well. And '_that'_ was something Halbarad had no wish for. Not at all.

The hours passed slowly, uneventfully. Only a spell away from dawn, Halbarad had fallen into a dreamless slumber, unable to fight the sleep any longer. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, while the other served as pillow.

Suddenly, his eyes flew open. Unmoving, making no sound at all, Halbarad held his breath. He had been a ranger long enough to go from sleep to full alertness in the split of a second without being confused about where he was and why. He trusted his instincts completely and right now they were screaming at him to not move.

The seconds ticked by slowly, and then the faintest sound reached Halbarad's ears. It was not truly a sound, more the vibration of the earth under his hand. His ear rested on the back of his hand and he more felt than heard someone moving in the darkness.

Halbarad lifted his head a tiny fraction, peering in the darkness. Using his hand to cover his mouth and therewith his breath, for it was misting white in front of his face, Halbarad took a shallow breath and released it slowly. He could clearly see Aragorn in the distance, and he was not moving.

So…it was time. Aragorn's plan worked and the assassin was making his move. But, where was he? The fact that he could hear, but not see the other man made Halbarad uneasy. A shiver that had nothing to do with the coldness of the night crawled down his spine.

With the blood rushing in his ears, Halbarad had difficulties hearing more than the deafening silence around him. Where was the assassin and….There! Halbarad turned his head to the right, from where the sound had come. Footsteps!

Gripping the hilt of his sword more tightly, Halbarad peered into the darkness, waiting. After a few moments, he heard it again. Someone was making his way over to where Aragorn was lying. Silence followed, and a few minutes later the footsteps could be heard once more. Apparently the assassin was taking no chances and was being extremely careful.

With the help of the moon and stars, Halbarad was finally able to see the man. He was nothing more than a dark shape against the slightly lighter sky, hushing from rock to rock and using them as shelter. But, once Halbarad had spotted the man, he did not lose him for a second.

When the assassin was far away enough from his position, and Halbarad had stored his moving pattern, he waited until the assassin moved again, and then made his own move. Every time the killer would move, Halbarad did the same. Due to his injured leg and the stiffness in his limb, Halbarad moved slower than the man he was following, but as soon as he would break cover, that would not matter any longer.

Ever so slowly they neared Aragorn's resting place. It were only some dozen yards, but it took them some long minutes to make it far enough to see Aragorn's face in the darkness. He was obviously sleeping, and Halbarad hoped that Aragorn was only faking it and had not truly fallen asleep.

A gust of cold wind blew into Halbarad's face and in the light of the moon he saw something shimmer in front of him. It was time. The assassin had drawn his sword. He was ready to strike.

°°°°°°°°°°

He was near enough. For days now he had been following the rangers, had kept to the shadows and in hiding. Why, he had even been forced to leave his horse behind! He was tired to stalking the rangers, tired of nights without a warm fire, tired of his stale bred, the dry meat and the foul cheese.

The only good thing that had happened had been that fool of a ranger to step into his trap. The fact that it had caught the wrong one had not truly bothered him, and in the end it had proven to be a blessing in disguise. Who could have known that the rangers would be so stupid as to slip up?

'The better for me,' the assassin thought was he sneaked through the darkness. 'Gives me the chance to kill this one without many problems.'

And on his way back to Bree, he could kill the other one. Just for the fun of it. His employer had only paid for one, but he would do the other in as a bonus. Once back in Bree he would buy another horse and then ride south before the worst of the snow set in. At least, the coldness would keep the orcs away from the gap of Rohan, although the Isen would be more difficult to cross should it snow.

All of these thoughts flittered through the assassin's head as he slowly neared Aragorn's sleeping form. When he was close enough to make out the pale face in the moonlight, he gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands.

"A pity you will never know who killed you, ranger." He said, and then brought the sword down in a deadly arc.

To be continued…

**I have finished this story and there will be two more chapters. I hope you like this new chapter. Let me know what you think,whether it is good or not. :o)**


	9. Endgame

**Hi! I am afraid something happened to the formatting. I will fix it as soon as I can, but I think a screwed formatting is better than no chapter. ;o)**

**°°°°°°°°°°  
Chapter 9: Endgame  
**  
Aragorn held his breath. For hours he had lain on the cold, frozen  
ground, feeling his legs and arms become numb with the cold and  
inactivity. More than once he had feared to fall asleep and had  
purposefully inhaled so deep that his broken ribs hurt him. And now,  
after hours of futile waiting, now that he was so tired he had  
problems staying awake, now that his arms were prickling with the  
cold and his legs frozen…now the assassin showed himself.

He had heard him before his senses had felt the vibration in the  
ground, but with his eyes almost closed and the near pitch blackness  
that reigned, Aragorn had no way of knowing how near the assassin  
already was.

So, he almost reacted too late when the assassin brought the sword  
down in a deadly arc, aiming to behead Aragorn in one swift move.

Rolling to his side, one hand grabbing his sword hilt and the other  
a handful of sand, Aragorn felt the sharp blade rush by his head by  
a fraction. Metal crunched against frozen earth, and in the next  
second an enraged growl reached Aragorn's ears. The assassin had  
missed him only narrowly.

Aragorn rolled once more, before he braced his legs against the  
ground and got to his feet. His ribs hurt terribly and his legs felt  
cold and stiff after his faked sleep, and when the assassin attacked  
him, Aragorn stumbled to the side, barely avoiding the blade.

Hampered by his injuries and stiffness, Aragorn brought his own  
sword up in a defending position the exact same moment the assassin  
swung his blade. Metal clashed and the force of the hit send Aragorn  
stumbling back.

"Halbarad!" Hoping that Halbarad would hear him, Aragorn took a step  
back, swinging his sword to deflect another blow. Already his arm  
shook from the fight and his broken ribs made breathing difficult.

"I will kill you, ranger! The other man thrust his sword forwards,  
aiming at Aragorn's injured side.

In the last possible moment, Aragorn twisted his body, avoiding the  
sword and putting him in a postion to attack himself. But he knew  
that he had no chance against the attacker in his current state.  
Aragorn lifted his hand and flung the dirt in the assassin face's  
direction, intent on blinding him. It was not an honourable tactic,  
but the assassin had not played by the rules from the beginning, and  
to murder him in his sleep was not honourable, too.

"Arg. Filthy ranger!" Wiping the sand out of his eyes, the assassin  
jumped back, cursing loudly.

Sensing his opportunity, Aragorn advanced. Gripping his sword with  
both hands, he swung it high above his head, trying if not to kill,  
then at least knock the assassin out. But he had not counted on the  
other man's tricks.

Suddenly, the world shifted around Aragorn, sky became ground and  
vice versa. A sharp pain lanced through his legs and the next moment  
his head crashed onto the hard ground, making him reel. He had only  
the split of a second to realize that the other man must have  
somehow knocked his legs out from under him, when strong hands  
gripped his head and slammed his skull so hard against the frozen  
earth that everything went black and unconsciousness took him.

Halbarad panted heavily. Aragorn's yell had come from farther away  
than he had thought possible, but the darkness around him made it  
difficult to estimate distances. But what he had no problem  
discerning was the sound of metal clashing.

Hastening his steps, Halbarad drew close enough to see the assassin  
drop to the ground and knock Aragorn's feet out from under him in  
one swift motion. The next second, the man was up and slammed  
Aragorn's head against the ground.

"Noo!" With a fierce cry, Halbarad lifted his sword and attacked the  
still crouching man. To his surprise, the assassin simply rolled to  
the side instead of getting up. For the split of a second Halbarad  
feared his blade would impale Aragorn, but in the last moment he was  
able to shift his stance. The sword slammed into the ground  
harmlessly, a few inches away from Aragorn's head.

That was close' shot through Halbarad's mind, but his thoughts were  
interrupted when the swishing sound of a blade met his ears.  
Ducking, he turned around quickly. Bringing his own weapon up in a  
swift move, he blocked the assassin's sword just in time.

The strength of the stroke made his arms tremble and a hot pain shot  
through his wrists. Cursing under his breath, Halbarad pressed  
forward, using the frozen ground as leverage and trying desperately  
to ignore the sharp pain that lanced through his injured leg. He  
knew he had to move the battle away from Aragorn, or his life could  
be in even more danger. Inch for painful inch the assassin  
retreated, but Halbarad, in his weakened state was no match for him.

Suddenly, the assassin twisted his sword to the side and with the  
weight of the man gone, Halbarad stumbled forwards, having lost his  
balance. With a sickening feeling in his stomach, Halbarad felt his  
sword met thin air and he knew that in this very moment his back was  
bared to an attack. But…it never came.

Instead, the assassin laughed loudly. "And here I thought rangers  
were so tough. But you, and that weakling over there," he gestured  
at the still unmoving form of Aragorn, "are no match for me."

Panting, Halbarad tightened his grip on his sword. How dare this man  
insult his Chieftain? For a few moments, Halbarad simply stared at  
the other man, taking in his tall form, the broad shoulders and the  
smug grin the man wore. Slowly, the two combatants began to circle  
each other, both wary of the other.

Trying to distract the assassin so that he could move the fight away  
from Aragorn, Halbarad lifted his chin accusingly. "And what about  
you? Shooting a man in the back, how tough is that?"

Something like amusement flickered through the other man's  
eyes. "Well, had I known that you two are such weaklings, I would  
have used a different tactic."

"What? Like placing traps out in the Wild, for everyone to step  
into? How fearless of you."

Halbarad could not be sure in the darkness, but he meant to see the  
other man redden. "Oh, mighty ranger! Even a child would have been  
able to see that trap. A fine ranger you are."

Slowly, the two put some distance between themselves and Aragorn,  
but Halbarad did not dare to look in his friend's direction. He  
would do nothing to direct the assassin's attention back on Aragorn.

Stumbling slightly and biting his cheek to hold in the cry of pain,  
Halbarad took a step back. Once he had regained his breath, he  
challenged, "It were we who trapped you, not the other way round,  
stranger."

"Oh, is that so?" The assassin spread his hands wide. "Then, why am  
I still alive? I easily overpowered your friend. I really do not  
know why my employer wants such a weakling dead."

In that moment, Halbarad felt something click in his head. "And who  
might that be, your employer?"

The assassin laughed, but his eyes never left Halbarad. "Oh, I bet  
you want to know that." For a few more seconds the two circled one  
another, and the tension grew so thick that they could have cut it  
with their swords. Then, the assassin grinned evilly. "You know  
what, ranger? If you best me in fighting, I will tell you who my  
employer is. If I win, I will let you live, kill that weakling over  
there, then come back and kill you with your friend's sword. How is  
that?"

Before Halbarad had time to answer, the assassin charged. Their  
swords clashed in mid air, then again and again. Halbarad ducked to  
block a blow, twisted, turned and slashed, but his sword was blocked  
every single time. Turning, he swung his blade to the right, then  
left, then right again, but again and again the assassin met his  
strokes.

Stumbling, Halbarad gripped his sword tighter. This man was good. He  
took a step back, twisted to the side and brought his sword up, only  
to have it met by the assassin's blade. He ducked and swung his  
blade, being blocked once more.

"Come now, is that all you can do?" The assassin taunted, before he  
suddenly took two quick steps forward and hit Halbarad right in the  
face with his fist. Blood spurted from Halbarad's nose, and he had  
to step back quickly to avoid another punch.

Now angered, Halbarad took the offensive. With quick strokes he  
pushed the assassin back; right, left, right, twist, left, right  
again. Suddenly, his sword met not metal, but soft flesh, and with  
more delight than he should have rightly felt, Halbarad heard the  
assassin grunt in pain. Red blood now marred Halbarad's blade from  
where he had cut the man's upper arm.

"Oh, you will regret that, ranger."

"Make me."

Red, hot anger seemed to emanate from the assassin, and in the next  
moment the man was attacking again. The sword strokes came so fast  
and strong that Halbarad had to practically jump back to avoid being  
skewered in half. Twisting to the side, Halbarad lifted his sword to  
block the assassin's next blow, but was surprised when the other man  
suddenly turned and slashed to the side.

In the last possible moment Halbarad brought his sword in position,  
saving his life. But it was all the assassin needed to execute his  
next move. Faster than Halbarad had ever seen someone move, except  
maybe Aragorn or elves, the assassin twisted his sword and dislodged  
Halbarad's own blade.

The sword fell to the ground with a sickening thud and in the next  
moment the assassin brought the pommel of his blade down on  
Halbarad's temple, who crumbled to the ground without a sound.

"Nice dreams, ranger." The man spat, before he gripped his injured  
arm with his free hand. "Curse that ranger folk." He swore, giving  
Halbarad a fierce kick in the stomach.

For a moment longer he stared at Halbarad's unmoving form, before he  
turned and made his way over to where Aragorn still lay. But,  
Aragorn was not truly unconscious any longer, but in a state of half-  
waking.

Cursing softly under his breath, the assassin gripped his sword  
tighter. It was time to do what he was paid for. Long enough had he  
been in the Wild, chasing after these rangers. No indeed, the sooner  
this assignment was over, the better. But, that did not mean that he  
could not enjoy these kills.

Grinning, the assassin approached Aragorn, who was blinking  
furiously to clear his vision. Moaning, he lifted a hand to touch  
his throbbing head, but before he could do that the assassin put the  
tip of his blade under his chin, pressing hard enough to draw blood.

"Time to die, ranger."

°°°°°°°°°°

Valar, this was not good. And, where was Halbarad? Was he still  
alive? What had happened? And where was his sword?

These and many other thoughts shot through Aragorn's fuzzy mind as  
he stared at the man who held his sword at his throat, ready to kill  
him. For a moment his fear for his friend overrode his own survival  
instinct and Aragorn turned his head to see where his friend was.

Almost immediately a sharp pain shot through his neck as the blade  
cut deeper into his skin, causing a small amount of blood to run  
down the side of his neck.

"Ah ah, I would not move if I were you, ranger." The assassin mocked  
him, pressing the blade a tiny bit deeper and forcing Aragorn to  
tilt his head backwards.

"Who are you?"

"Me? Oh, nobody. Oh wait, I am the one who will kill you." And with  
that said the assassin lifted his sword high above his head in a  
killing stroke.

Fear. That was all that Aragorn felt in that very moment. Besides  
all that he had been through in his life, the fear of death had  
never completely left him. His heart pounded so fast in his chest  
that he meant it would break the rest of his ribs and his hands felt  
clammy with sweat.

As if things went slower than usual, he saw the light of the moon  
reflect on the shiny blade, while the sword made its deadly way  
downward to kill him. A gust of wind made the hair of the assassin  
wave around his head, and the starlight shone in the assassin's eyes.

But, all this lasted only for the split of a second, and then  
Aragorn's instincts took over. Unheeding of his dizziness and the  
pain in his body as well as the fear for Halbarad, Aragorn drew his  
knees towards his chest and then kicked out with all he was worth.

His booted feet connected with the assassin's knees and with a howl  
of pain the man sagged to the ground, the sword falling to the  
ground, lost in the darkness. Blinking, Aragorn reached for the  
dagger that was hiding in his boot, but despite his pain, the  
assassin was faster.

Grunting, he threw his body forwards, effectively pinning Aragorn  
under him. Sweat now pooled on the man's forehead and his eyes held  
a dangerous shimmer. For long moments they both struggled, but one  
hard punch to Aragorn's chest left him gasping for breath. Using the  
opening, the assassin managed to land some more punches against  
Aragorn's broken ribs.

Bright shapes began to float in front of Aragorn's eyes and he had  
trouble breathing. Valar, when had the air turned into mud? Gasping,  
Aragorn tried to move away from his attacker, but the man had pinned  
him under him and in his weakened state, he was not able to escape.  
Another punch landed on his chest, this time close to his stab  
wound, and the new pain made him cry out in pain despite his  
breathing problem.

Sensing the weakness, the assassin used it mercilessly. Blow after  
blow landed in his side and Aragorn felt the stitches of the wound  
break one after the other, reopening the wound and causing warm  
blood to seep through his shirt. Another blow landed against his  
chin, and for a few seconds everything turned bright red and then  
black, before the world shifted back into focus.

"Time to end it, ranger."

And then Aragorn felt the assassin's strong hands encircle his neck,  
effectively cutting off his air supply and nearly damaging his  
larynx. Already out of breath from the struggles before, Aragorn  
felt his lungs scream for air while his head began to pound more  
fiercely.

The pressure on his chest shifted as the assassin rose to his knees,  
executing more pressure on his hands so as to finish the assignment  
more quickly. Struggling, Aragorn clawed at the hands around his  
throat, but the man was simply too strong for him. Hunger, thirst,  
his injuries and the Wilds had weakened Aragorn more than he had  
thought, and so he felt panic rise inside as his attempts to free  
himself grew weaker and weaker.

Dark spots appeared in his line of vision and in a last attempt to  
save himself Aragorn pressed his feet against the ground, ready to  
push the man over his head. But the assassin would have none of it.  
Sensing what Aragorn was about to do, he tightened his hold and  
slammed Aragorn's head against the ground with such a force that it  
nearly knocked Aragorn out.

Aragorn blinked, and when the dark spots simply increased in number  
and his vision became even more hazy while the sounds of the night  
and the struggle grew fainter, he knew that he had lost. This time,  
he would not emerge from a fight as the heroic winner.

His numb hands fell to his sides and his eyes closed slowly. At  
least, he thought wistfully, the stars will be the last thing I see  
before I leave this world behind.

Out of the corner of his eyes Aragorn saw a dark shadow move behind  
the assassin, a black shape against the slightly brighter sky. But,  
the pressure on his neck did not lessen and his eyes fluttered shut.

To be continued…


	10. Where the Heart is

°°°°°°°°°°

**Chapter 10: Where the heart is**

'No, please no.' Halbarad prayed inwardly while he stood up on shaky legs. All he could see was the assassin who was bent over Aragorn, slowly strangling the life out of him. And Aragorn, he did not move any longer.

With a full blown panic and more fury than he had ever felt, Halbarad grabbed his sword that lay beside him on the ground, lifted it high, advanced on the assassin and in one strong stroke he brought the blade down, killing the man instantly.

Later, he could not say how he had managed to move so quickly or so silently, with his leg thus injured and his ribs hurting that much, but in that very moment all that Halbarad could see was the pale, motionless form of Aragorn, lying so still and quiet on the cold ground, with the dead assassin slumped across his body and bright, red blood pooling around him.

"No please, Sweet Eru no." With shaking fingers Halbarad reached out and touched Aragorn's neck, hoping and praying to find a pulse. One second, two, three…

A huge sigh left Halbarad's lips and he bowed his head in relief. Aragorn was alive. He was breathing shallowly and he had a pulse.

"Aragorn, weak up. Aragorn!" Heedless of Aragorn's or his own injuries, he began to shake Aragorn, wanting him to wake up, but no matter how hard he shook him, Aragorn did not stir. Sighing, Halbarad sat back on his behind, only now realizing the pain in his leg and chest. Wiping a hand across his brow, he could not stop the small chuckle that left his lips.

"Ai, Aragorn, how do we manage to get into all these scrapes, my friend?" When he got no answer, Halbarad began to check Aragorn for injuries. The wound to his side had indeed reopened, but the amount of blood staining the shirt and tunic was not alarming. Halbarad bound the injury with strips of cloth from his cloak. When he examined Aragorn's head, his hand came away bloody, and Halbarad cursed himself in all the languages he knew for not having checked that sooner.

Gently, he turned Aragorn's head to the side, and in the weak moonlight he could see that there was a cut at the back of Aragorn's head that would need stitches. Using the rest of his cloak, for there was not much left anyway, Halbarad pressed against the wound and after what seemed like an eternity, the bleeding stopped.

Still, Aragorn did not stir, and so Halbarad bedded Aragorn's head on the cloak, while he checked himself for injuries. His chest hurt fiercely, but he felt not broken ribs. His head hurt even more, but he encountered only a small amount of by now dried blood on his temtple. The blow must have been heavy enough to knock him out, but it had done no serious damage.

That done, all he could do until sunrise was to search the mysterious attacker. Cursing loudly, Halbarad made his way slowly over to the dead assassin, who lay still close to where he had fallen, although Halbarad had rolled the body away after examining Aragorn. The man had no pack with him, no water skin, no bow, nothing.

"Perhaps he had a camp close by." Halbarad said loudly, hoping that the sound of his voice would rouse Aragorn, but a quick glance showed him that he was still unconscious.

Sighing, Halbarad rubbed his sore chest. "Great. He could at least have had the courtesy to have some food with him. I am starving." When he got no answer, Halbarad sighed once more.

Then, suddenly, another thought hit him. With the assassin gone, there was no reason why they could not…

A few minutes later, Halbarad held his cold hands over the warming flames of a flickering fire. There had not been much wood, but some dry bushes served as food for the greedy flames. Grey smoke rose into the sky and when the first light crawled sleepily over the eastern horizon, Halbarad had positioned Aragorn close to the fire, with the assassin's cloak draped over him and his own sword resting close by.

The sun shone weak and bleary, but no snow had fallen during the night. The air was even colder than the day before and soon Halbarad felt the urge to move around to keep warm, despite the small fire he had built earlier.

It was mid-morning when Aragorn finally stirred. A moan left his slightly blue lips and Halbarad was at his side in an instant. "Aragorn? Can you hear me?"

"H-Halbarad?" The voice was soft and scratchy and Halbarad wished he had some water to ease the pain Aragorn surely felt.

"Aye, it is I. How do you feel?"

After some moments of slow blinking, Aragorn locked his eyes on his friend. "Alive. You?"

A huge grin spread across Halbarad's face. "Me too."

They spent the rest of the morning close to the fire, warming themselves and in Aragorn's case, resting. For a few hours Halbarad slept, too, but his worry for his friend and Chieftain woke him around midday.

"Aragorn? Are you awake?"

"Hmmm."

Taking that as an affirmation, Halbarad continued. "We need to move on, if you are up to it. We cannot stay here. I have been looking for the man's camp, but either he had none or he concealed it very effectively. I cannot find it." He sighed. "We need to reach the ford soon."

"Aye, I know." Aragorn turned his head, grimacing at the pain that shot through his skull and neck. His neck was swollen and dark bruises marred his skin. His voice was scratchy and dry, and every word pained him. "Hal, you go. Let me stay here."

"No." Shaking his head, Halbarad lifted a hand to stop any further words. "We leave here together or not at all."

"But…"

"No 'buts'." Locking his eyes with Aragorn's, Halbarad gazed at him with the same stubborn look that Aragorn adopted sometimes.

"I could order you to leave me behind and bring back help, Captain." Aragorn said softly.

"Aye, you could. But would you? Truly?" Halbarad asked softly.

After a moment, Aragorn shook his head weakly. "No, my friend. I would not."

A small smile lightened Halbarad's face and he had just opened is mouth to retort something, when he suddenly became still as stone. Tilting his head to the side, he listened intently.

"Horses. Four riders. They come from the East. Fast approaching."

"Help me up."

Swiftly but gently, Halbarad helped Aragorn to his feet, steadying him until he found his balance. Even then Halbarad was loath to release him, for Aragorn was not steady at all on his feet, but they could show no weakness in the face of danger.

Gripping the hilts of their swords, both rangers gazed into the distance. There was nowhere they could go, no place to hide. Whoever was coming their way, they would have to meet him.

Agonizing minutes passed and the riders grew bigger and bigger, but with the sun glaring from the cloudless sky, they could not be made out. Rather soon, Aragorn and Halbarad could see that one of the horses was rider less, but it was no packhorse either, for it bore no packs or bundles.

Then, when the riders were in shouting distance, a shrill whistle met their ears. Instantly, Aragorn and Halbarad loosened the hold on their swords and relaxed. Rangers. The riders were rangers. And from the whistle, it were some of the rangers from the ford, for all of the different outposts had different signals.

Relief flooded Halbarad's body and he quickly gave the answering whistle. The horses sped up even more, and soon he could make out the tall forms of the riders. Smiling, he turned to Aragorn. "It seems we are rescued, Aragorn."

"A shame." Aragorn said with mock sincerity. "And here I was so looking forward to the march back. The landscape is so fascinating."

A loud bark of laughter erupted from Halbarad and Aragorn chuckled softly beside him, although it hurt his throat to do so.

°°°°°°°°°°

The ride back to the ford and the ranger outpost took them the rest of the day and most of the next day as well, for they had to share the horses; furthermore they rode slowly, due to Aragorn's and Halbarad's injuries.

But, that gave the rangers the time to enquire how they had been found and why the rangers had even searched for them, for they had not been overly late yet. So, they learned that Halbarad's loyal horse had found its way to the ford, knowing the way after many travels. The sight of the sweaty, rider less horse had of course alarmed the rangers at the ford.

They had sent out as many man as they had been able to spare, divided into two groups with a spare horse each in the case it was needed. So it had happened that this group had seen the smoke of the fire and had headed in the general direction.

Once at the ford, they did not rest long but headed out the next day, for Aragorn's fever and cough had worsened and there were not the right medicinal supplied available. The village was only a day's ride from the ford, and after much convincing Halbarad agreed to let Aragorn ride home with him, instead of sending a rider back from the village with the needed herbs and supplies.

While they travelled, the weather worsened, and when they finally entered the village shortly after nightfall, a cold wind was howling around the houses and an icy rain drenched them from head to foot. They rode up to Halbarad's house and Aragorn stopped, but did not dismount immediately.

The door to the house was opened and light spilled onto the gloomy street. Smiling, Halbarad dismounted and hobbled over to the door, embracing his wife tightly. She buried her head in his hair, not minding that she became wet, too. "You are home, my love."

"Aye, I am home, my love."

Something very painful twisted in Aragorn's heart as he watched the scene. It was almost as if someone had taken a dagger, stabbed it into his heart and was now twisting it. Before he truly knew what he was doing, he had urged his horse forward, only wishing to get away from the scene in front of him. His house was just down the street, only a stone throw, actually.

But before his horse had taken more than a few steps, Halbarad's voice called out to him, "Aragorn!"

Turning in his saddle and ignoring the pain this movement caused, Aragorn raised a questioning eyebrow. His throat hurt far too much for speech by now.

Halbarad had taken a lamp from his wife and was standing under the wide roof, sheltered from the rain. "What do you think you are doing, Aragorn?"

Shivering from the fever and cold, Aragorn looked at the shape of his house. There was no light behind the windows, for no one had known that they would arrive tonight, so no one had bothered to kindle a fire in the hearth. The house looked cold and empty. Not like his home, only like a house.

And it was no home, Aragorn knew that now more than ever. For the last two days, Halbarad had practically done nothing else than to speak of his wife and child, and how he wished to come home. Of the presents he had bought in Bree and how happy he was that the goods had not been lost.

Aragorn had wished to reach the village, too, but out of different reasons. He wanted to lay down, sleep, rest and heal. He knew he would have to leave soon and investigate the case of the attempted assassination, although he had no hope of finding out anything. Things like these had happened before, and never had they found any true hints as to who was ordering the killings.

The prospect of returning to Bree or the Wilds did not sit good with him, but staying in the village left a bad aftertaste, too. Aragorn felt no inclination to do either. And that showed him that this village, this house was not his home. Not like it was a home to Halbarad.

"Come into the house, Aragorn. It is cold outside." Halbarad's voice was soft, almost as if he knew some of the thoughts that raced through Aragorn's mind.

Gazing at Halbarad's wife who stood in the open doorway, eying her husband lovingly, a scarf wrapped around her slim shoulders and her long hair blowing in the wind, with the light of a warm fire in the background, Aragorn felt his stomach knot painfully.

This was not his family, his home. He would only intrude. Already he was keeping Halbarad from his family and he knew that should he stay, he would do so even more. No. This felt wrong. He had no place in that home and he felt … misplaced there.

Aragorn shook his head and opened his mouth to say something despite the pain it would cause, but Halbarad beat him to it.

"Don't be so stubborn, Aragorn. You know that my home is your home as well. Come now, my friend." Halbarad said gently, knowingly, and then nodded his head into the direction of the open doorway.

Had he not enjoyed the company of the young rangers in Bree? Or the trip back with Halbarad, before the madness had begun? Aye, he had felt save and at ease for a while.

Aragorn nodded and slowly turned his horse around. With the help of one of the other rangers that had by now come from the gate to the village to take care of the horses, he dismounted and made his way into the house.

As soon as he stepped over the threshold, the smell of warm tea filled his nose and the warmth of the fire made his wet clothing steam. Halbarad and his wife helped him into the spare room, a luxury that only few houses had.

The village healer examined him and Halbarad only a short while later and Aragorn drank the sleeping draught without complain, for he would have described it himself. When he knew that Halbarad was alright as well and after thanking Halbarad's wife for her hospitality, he soon fell into a dreamless sleep.

°°°°°°°°°°

The wind was howling around the house, making the fire in the stone hearth crackle and flicker. The red flames cast eerie shadows on the walls, and the darkness inside the building seemed almost deeper than the wintry blackness outside.

For long moments Halbarad stood in the doorway, one hand on the handle of the door, the other on the rough wood of the frame, steadying himself. Closing his eyes tightly, he let his head hang and took a deep breath, therewith avoiding his eyes from the heavily bandaged figure that lay motionless on the bed. 'So close,' he thought. 'It was really close this time.'

Opening his tired eyes, he stood for a moment longer in the doorway, unable to completely tear his eyes from Aragorn's injured form. The dark hair contrasted starkly against the pale skin, and even more against the bandages that wound around his head and torso, hiding various wounds.

Suddenly, he heard soft footsteps behind him and without turning he knew that his wife was approaching. A gentle hand was placed on his shoulder, and another above his own that still held the handle. A whisper reached his ears, "Let him sleep, Hal."

He nodded, closed the door softly, and then let his wife lead him towards the fireplace. Without even thinking, he slid his arms around her slim waist and pressed her against his broad chest, feeling her arms come around his shoulders. Breathing in her familiar scent as he buried his face in her hair, he whispered tiredly, "We almost lost him this time."

"He is strong, he will survive."

He nodded, suddenly feeling very tired. The events of the past few days replayed in his mind and he tightened his hold on his wife, needing the calm comfort she always provided. That was one thing why he loved her so much, her calmness that could weather even the strongest storm.

"Father?" A sleepy voice came from the other side of the room, and almost reluctantly Halbarad let go of his wife and turned to his young daughter. He smiled at her weakly, and she pitter-pattered towards him, her stuffed rabbit in her arms.

Lifting his daughter into his strong arms, he stroked her cheek with two fingers, "You should be asleep, my dear."

"I heard you talking." The little girl blinked sleepily, "Is uncle Aragorn sleeping?"

"Aye, he is. We have to be quiet so as not to wake him." He placed a finger at his lips to strengthen his words. His daughter eyed him seriously, and then took a deep breath. Nevertheless, her voice was but a whisper when she asked, "Will he wake up again?"

Halbarad knew very well that his little daughter adored her kind 'uncle', and he gave her a reassuring smile, "Aye, he will heal, my dear. He always does, does he not?" He added as he saw her frown.

She gazed at him for a moment longer and then she placed her head tiredly on his shoulder and nodded. Closing her eyes, she let her father carry her back to her own bed. Just as Halbarad tucked her under the covers, he heard her say sleepily, "I am glad you are back, ada. I love you."

Halbarad looked down at his little daughter, who despite her age already knew the bitterness of death. "I love you too, my dear." He answered softly, kissed her forehead and watched her drift off into sleep.

For a moment longer he stood at the bed, watching his young daughter sleep. Then, he blew out the small candle, closed the door and made his way slowly over to his wife. His leg still hurt, but it was not as bad as it had been before.

She held out her hand and he gripped it tightly. "Come to bed, Hal. It is late and you need your sleep. Tomorrow, things will look better, you'll see."

"Aye, you are right." He gazed deep into the familiar eyes and after a moment he placed a feather light kiss on her lips. "I love you." He whispered softly.

"Not as much as I love you."

But despite all that had happened in the last few days and his own weariness, sleep did not come easily for Halbarad that night. For hours he lay awake, musing about the things that Aragorn had said and done since he was back from the Wild.

When he finally drifted off to sleep, he vowed to help his friend feel more at home in the village. Or somewhere else, wherever that may be. And maybe, maybe Aragorn would one day tell him why he could not truly feel at home here, and who it was that held his heart so captured.

For, in Halbarad's opinion the old saying was true: Home is where the heart is.

And Aragorn's heart…that had to be in so many places at the same time, caring for so many people…

And one person especially had it captured, Halbarad had no doubt about it. 'Maybe', he thought sleepily. Maybe one day…

**The End.**

**A/N**: I let Halbarad's daughter use the term 'ada' here, because the Dunedain spoke more Sindarin than Westron, and I think children could have used the elvish terms.

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